


This New Strain

by linzackles



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, Post-2x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 41,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23379466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linzackles/pseuds/linzackles
Summary: Obligatory quarantine fic.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 755
Kudos: 758





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I had this idea over on my Tumblr to challenge myself to writing every day for the next 14 days with a Brio quarantine fic that takes place over 14 days. I have no idea if I'll actually be able to live up to that or not, but I already have a few ideas and I'm hoping you guys will have some more for me :) 
> 
> \- This is going to be in the form of a drabble series, so the chapters won't be too long, but (hopefully!) they will be daily.  
> -This is set post-2x12!

Beth wants it on the record that none of this was her idea.

She’s said as much at least ten times along the way, though, so she doesn’t say it now, only shooting a short glance at Rio.

He’d turned the radio off and she hadn’t blamed him. Everything is about death tolls, road closures or quarantine tips. Some stations are trying to seem jovial, but it’s just not working.

She’s spent the whole ride up texting with Annie, who is apparently done setting Ben up in the boys’ room.

She, Annie and Ruby had all braved the stores together, stocking up for what’s to come. Her sister’s staying with her, and they have a nightly call planned with the Hill family. She’d been _so ready_ – and then Rio had turned up at her door.

_“Good, you look ready.”_

_“Ready for what?”_

_“We gotta go meet someone.”_

_“_ Who _? Rio, we’re supposed to be in quarantine – I’m pretty sure even crime has to stop for a while.”_

_He sniffs at this, and she’s not sure if it’s in contempt or genuine amusement._

_“Get your coat. Snacks. It’s a long drive.”_

And now here they are, five minutes away from whatever cottage Rio’s contact is staying in, because apparently even _they_ know it’s time to stock up and hole up, preferably as far away from civilisation as possible.

Rio takes a turn and they go onto a dirt road lined with shrubbery.

The GPS continues giving them directions and then finally they pull up to the cottage which is… not what Beth had been expecting. It looks, in a word, luxurious. Despite being set in the middle of a forest, it looks like a river cottage, set up on pillars and made of a deep dark wood. Warn lights burn on the inside, hinting at the dusk beginning to fall.

Beth frowns.

“You know, we’ve been driving for over an hour and you still haven’t even told me who we’re meeting or why.”

“Said his name was Billy, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” she scoffs, “but who’s Billy?”

He pulls up then sighs, turning off the ignition.

“He can get your dealership back up and running.”

She stares back at him, blinking rapidly. Several questions come to mind – most notably, why in the hell had he waited this long to tell her this? – but one rings out above all the others.

“How?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs. “That’s what we here to find out.”

She narrows her eyes at him and he rolls his.

“What?”

“You drove all the way out here without even knowing?” she asks, tone filled with suspicion.

That’s not like him at all.

He juts out a thumb.

“Said he had to show us. You comin?”

With that, he climbs out of the car, and she huffs out a breath as she follows, taking her handbag with her.

He must think he does it surreptitiously but she’s a step behind, so she notices when he checks his gun.

Beth swallows. “Do I really have to go in with you?”

“Look. It’s one meeting, alright? Then you get to tuck your lil family away and not see me again till this shit blows over.”

“I won’t have to see you again? Do you promise?”

He shoots her a look but she’s smiling, and he rolls his eyes before taking the steps up to the front door.

His fist pounds against it.

“Yo, Billy, it’s me.”

“It’s open!”

Rio hesitates for a moment then pushes the door open. They step inside and the first thing Beth registers is that there’s no way this place is Billy’s.

Billy looks like his entire outfit is from lost and found, and he hasn’t showered or seen the sun in a few days.

He throws a quick glance up at them from where he’s digging behind a couch, eyes rimmed red.

“Who’s the chick?”

“This Elizabeth – you good, man?”

Beth closes the door behind her but stays glued to it, jittery, as Rio moves forward. Something in her stomach is telling her that something is off, and it’s not being helped by the tone of Rio’s voice. Nor by the impression she’s getting that Billy’s… well, robbing the place.

“Yeah, I’m just… trying to get clean,” he clears his throat, straightening up. “Did you bring the money?”

“’Cuz I’m that dumb? You know how it works,” Rio says, shoulders jerking as he gets closer. “Show me the goods then you get a taste. Come through then you get paid.”

“You always did make that sound like a nursery rhyme,” Billy mutters.

Beth looks around. The kitchen is huge; gleaming. The fridge is bigger than her own; looks at least doubly as expensive. The furniture in the lounge is all warm wood and leather; some huge art pieces adorning the walls.

“Whose place is this?” she asks.

Both men ignore her.

“I really need that money,” Billy says, voice breathy.

…Maybe a little too breathy.

Beth shifts over so she can get a better angle on him, one not hidden by Rio’s slim but dark frame.

And Beth doesn’t know what recovering addicts look like, but with his watery eyes, struggling chest and general greenness, Beth thinks he just looks pretty… sick.

“ _Rio_ …”

“Looks like you pretty loaded,” Rio gestures around.

“It’s my aunt’s place.” He swallows hard, like it’s a struggle. His eyes are desperate. “I just needed a few things, then I’m headed out. And one of the things was that money.”

The moment seems to unfold in slow motion.

Rio reaches, lifting up his shirt as his hand lands on his gun. She wants to speak, wants to make him stop. From her angle, she sees him open his mouth, ready to issue whatever threat he’s thought up in the last second he’d realised they’d been tricked.

And then Billy coughs.


	2. (contd)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the encouragement and ideas! I'm so glad you guys like the thought of this :)

They all freeze.

For a suspended second they all just stand there, limbs unmoving.

Then Rio turns to look at her.

Their eyes lock for a protracted moment, sound and time seeming to drop out of the room.

Then she clears her throat.

“Billy, are you sick?”

She tries to remember the way he’d coughed – all she’d registered in the moment was the way he hadn’t covered it; the way it had sprayed everywhere. But now she recalls why – his entire chest had wracked with it; his body bucking under the strain.

“I-I think you may have pneumonia.”

“What are you, some kind of doctor?” he shoots back.

“My husband had it once.” She feels Rio’s eyes on her again but doesn’t meet them. “Have you been tested for coronavirus?”

“Couldn’t get a test.”

Meaning he’d suspected he had it, too.

“Oh my god.”

“Leave the keys and get out,” Rio growls.

His gun is out now, faster than she could follow, the gold gleaming with the cottage’s warm lights.

Billy’s face twists. “This is my place.”

“Get out or I’ll blow your fuckin head off.”

Billy swallows hard, chest still heaving, then raises his hands up in surrender and drops the keys. Slowly he picks up his backpack then backs out, moving faster once he’s reached the backdoor.

It slams behind him and neither of them move as they wait.

There’s the sound of a car starting up and Rio goes over to a window to watch.

She stands rooted to her spot, mind whirling.

Then he turns to her, jerking his gun. 

“A’ight, let’s go.”

What?

“Where?”

“Home.”

She stares.

“Rio, he just coughed on you. He could have the virus. We need to self-isolate.”

He sticks his hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.

“We? He didn’t cough on you.”

“But I have to drive in the car with you for an hour. And, besides, he could’ve touched the door handle or… anything else,” she says, beginning to get a little panicked as she looks around.

What had she touched? Had she touched her face since coming inside?

It doesn’t matter.

“We have children, we can’t risk it.”

He chews this over for a second then huffs out a breath, nodding.

“Fine. We can do it at my place. I’ll call Demon, check on those road closures.”

She lets out a breath, glad this doesn’t have to be a longer argument. He puts his gun away then starts dialling and Beth nibbles on her cheek for a moment before walking over into the kitchen.

It really is gorgeous, so close to what she’d always wished she’d one day have.

She folds her arms to ensure she won’t touch anything then enters the pantry, drawing a breath at its filled depths. There isn’t all that many fresh ingredients, but otherwise it’s a cornucopia – racks and racks lined with pasta, tinned goods, jams and preserved fruits.

She wonders where Billy’s aunt is now.

Hearing Rio’s call wind down, she exits through the automatic door just as he’s busy hanging up.

“Damn,” he mutters.

“What?”

There’s annoyance in the set of his shoulders as he comes closer.

“He says they registering cars coming in and out. Spot checks.”

“Ok…?”

“My car ain’t gettin searched.”

He says this more like it’s a point of pride than anything, and she thinks to point out that now isn’t really the time for it, but decides to go a different way.

“Well, maybe we won’t get checked,” she shrugs.

“You seen me? We gettin searched for sure. And ’sides, I ain’t putting my name down on no damn registry. You know how many questions that shit can start? Like why we up here to begin with?”

“Well, that’s a good question,” she points out. “How exactly was a heroine addict going to help us get the dealership back?”

His face twists in something like dismay.

“Didn’t know he was on nothin.” He lets out a breath. “He used to be FBI.”

Oh.

She puts the pieces together, the way Turner will have no issue doing once all this passes. Her name plus whatever alias Rio might use coming from an area where an ex-FBI junkie’s relatives live. God.

She takes a deep breath. “Well, if you’re telling me we need to stay here, there are worse places. The pantry is fully stocked – it seems like Billy only took what he could carry.” 

He looks back and forth, as if taking real note of the place for the first time; appraising it.

His nose scrunches a little but then he sighs.

“Fine. Guess it’s as good a place as any,” he says like he would actually much rather be at his own place.

Beth decides not to address this.

“We should wash our hands then disinfect all surfaces; anything he could’ve touched.”

To her surprise, he doesn’t argue with this.

They split the house down the middle and wipe it down. She’s surprised by how methodical he is, how seriously he takes it, but she doesn’t say anything. The two hours of quiet is a blissful blessing, especially as the fomite potential of every single thing around her overtakes her mind.

Dark has fallen completely by the time they finish, Rio tossing his sponge down in the sink with an annoyed sigh that he doesn’t expand on.

Instead he just disappears into the depths of the house. She finishes in the bathroom – an en suite off the main bedroom, which is less opulent than the kitchen but still fairly luxurious – then heads back into the kitchen.

Rio’s busy locking the backdoor – the keys had been one of the first things to get a scrubbing.

“So we got three exits,” he says suddenly, voice scratchy with disuse. “Secured em all. Don’t open em without me—”

“Rio, this isn’t some apocalyptic movie,” she scoffs.

“You seen the news recently?” he retorts, brow raised. “Billy ain’t the only one who’s gonna be lootin.”

And now she looks at him; really _looks_ at him.

And she thinks something unfathomable – is he… _scared_?

“You know,” she clears her throat, taking a step closer, “just because he coughed on you doesn’t mean you’re going to get sick.”

“I know.”

He says this very easily, yet it sprouts unease in her stomach.

“If you do…”

She means for this to be some sort of reassurance, but she has nothing to follow it up with.

What then? She’ll take care of him? Is that what she’s supposed to say? As if he’d care what she has to offer him?

He lets out a derisive little breath then turns away.

“Imma go pull my car in.”

“Ok.”

She watches him leave then sits down on one of the bar stools. It feels steady underneath her, unlike her mind.

What if he _does_ get sick? What if _she_ does?

God, how had she gotten herself into this situation?

Before she can think any further, he’s back.

“I’m beat.”

“Ok,” she blinks back.

She wishes she could say anything else, but too much has happened before today and now she’s somehow made it even worse.

He shrugs a shoulder.

“Looks like they turned the second bedroom into a study, but there’s a couch in there so I’ll take it. You find any bedding anywhere?”

He says this all in one go, not leaving any room for debate, and she’s glad. Beth doesn’t want to think about the last time they’d shared a bed.

Has not _allowed_ herself to think about it.

“Yeah. In here.”

She goes to a cupboard she’d found during her cleaning then pulls out everything he’ll need, including a few pillows.

And, looking at them, it really settles in for the first time. She’s about to spend two weeks with Rio. Nowhere to go; no place to run. Just the two of them in this strange place together.

And god, she thinks – she _thinks_ – that as she places the bedding into his arms, he has the exact same thing on his mind.

Their hands brush and it makes their eyes meet, blazing.

Is he, too, thinking about the way their hands had brushed as they pushed down her panties together?

She forces a small awkward smile, hoping it will lighten the moment; hoping it will make the memory vanish.

“So much for never having to see you again.”

And as if by some kind of miracle, his lips turn up.

Then he nods.

“G’night, Elizabeth.”


	3. Day 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3! For me - these two disasters are still on Day 2. As for disasters, you'll see what I mean...

Beth’s conversation with her sister is on her mind as she investigates the contents of the fridge.

_Wait… so this means you’re quarantining in a cosy cottage with gangfriend??_

They’d spent over an hour last night on a call – until her phone had died – so she could see the kids and assure them that everything was going to be ok.

It had taken a solid 15 minutes for Annie to get over her incredulity at Beth’s situation to realise the reality of her own.

_Hold up – you’re telling me I’m stuck here with all your kids?_

_It wasn’t our quarantine plan because of Judith, but Dean could come over to help—_

_I’d literally rather get coronavirus._

They’d gone through a few symptom checks and all the kids seem to be doing fine.

Beth’s grateful. She doesn’t know what she’ll do if one of them gets sick and she’s stuck here.

She’s interrupted from her reverie when Rio enters.

Yesterday he’d been wearing a coat and a shirt, but she guesses he must’ve had a t-shirt on underneath it because it’s what he’s wearing with his jeans now.

The clothing situation is one she’d had to come to terms with this morning. Aunt Iris (based on some mail Beth had found) seems to be on the slimmer side, meaning the majority of her wardrobe isn’t going to be helpful to Beth over the next 14 days. She’d opted to wear the same sweater from yesterday and a pair of pajama pants that she guesses had belonged to Iris’ husband.

“Morning,” she says civilly.

“Hey,” he nods half-heartedly.

“Sleep ok?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “It’s a real good couch.”

“Good, I’m glad,” she smiles. “Um… you don’t have a charger here, do you?”

He looks over her for a moment then nods.

“In the car.”

“Could I use it? I was checking on the kids last night and–”

“Yeah, I heard.”

Oh. She had _not_ considered that.

“Did I keep you up?” she asks, tone clipped with guilt.

He shrugs non-committally then takes a seat at the kitchen counter, leaning over onto it like he normally does when they’re at the bar.

Her eyes go to it, remembering.

_And he’ll have a chardonnay._

_No. I won’t._

Rio notices her gaze but misinterprets.

“I washed my hands.”

She clears her throat.

“Well, we still shouldn’t touch surfaces unnecessarily.”

“Yes, mom.”

A blush rises to her cheeks and she finally closes the fridge door, thankful that it provides a desperately needed segue.

“I was thinking of making breakfast,” she announces sunnily. “What do you want? There’s a bunch of cereal but no milk.”

He pulls a face.

“I ain’t hungry.”

She freezes stock still in her journey from the fridge, and he lets out a breath before rolling his eyes.

“Think it’s a lil soon for that to mean anything.”

Forcing her body into movement again, she positions herself opposite him at the counter.

“True, but you didn’t have dinner, either.”

After he’d taken the bedding, she’d found a mushroom pizza and heated it up, enjoying a few slices as she’d been on the call with her sister.

Rio shrugs. “Found some chips after you went to sleep.”

So she had kept him up. God.

“Well, that’s not enough,” she points out. “You need to keep your strength up.”

He stares at her for a long moment, as if wondering how much arguing this would be worth, before heaving a sigh.

“Bacon and eggs.”

She pulls a face and his eyes narrow.

“What?”

“…I think Billy’s aunt may be vegetarian.”

“Fuck my life,” he mutters, throwing his head back.

After a second and another sigh, he squints at her.

“What do vegetarians have with egg?”

She thinks about this.

“Mushrooms?”

Rio seems to consider this, lips twisting, then sighs.

“They better be some damn good mushrooms.”

She smiles. “I’ll do my best.”

Gesturing, he leans out of his chair.

“You want some help?”

“No!”

Again they freeze. Her hands are up in the air where she’d thrown them as if to physically stop him from touching her, even though he’s two arm’s lengths away.

He doesn’t look too pleased and it heats a flame in the nape of her neck.

“Oh-h my god, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that, I just—”

“I get it,” he shakes his head. “You older than me – at higher risk and whatnot.”

Realising he’s teasing, she gasps.

“I’m not that much older than you!” He lifts a brow and she pinks. “…I think.”

This makes him smirk, but of course he doesn’t deign to provide any sort of denial or confirmation.

“So I found a computer,” he says instead. “Looks old but I can get some work done so this ain’t a complete waste of time, and you don’t gotta run your phone battery out every night chattin.”

There’s vague disdain in this, but she chooses to ignore it as she goes about getting out eggs.

“Thanks.”

“Uh huh. Imma go get that charger.”

She finds the mushrooms, chops them up, melts the butter, fries them up, fries them really dark brown, gets them nearly crisp – and he still isn’t back yet.

She wrings her hands after turning off the pan.

Where _is_ he? How can it take ten minutes to go get a phone charger?

Oh god, what if something had happened to him? What if she’s all alone here?

_You seen the news recently? Billy ain’t the only one who’s gonna be lootin._

Panic is unfurling deep in her belly when suddenly he steps back inside casually.

“Damn, it’s cold out there,” he mutters.

“Where were you?!” she shouts, body shivering with anger.

He takes her in as if she’s a crazy person.

“Takin a call.”

“You couldn’t have done that inside?”

Now he’s annoyed.

“One day and you already acting like you my wife?”

This knocks her for a second, but she swallows down the blush.

“I was worried!”

“There ain’t bears out there.”

She glares.

“What if Billy comes back?”

“Then I’ll kill him,” he says simply.

“And if he brings guys? Or guns? You said he used to be FBI.”

It’s the first thing that seems to shake his resolve, and after a moment of consideration, he lets out a breath.

“I’ll take calls inside from now on.”

Nodding, she allows herself to breathe.

“Thank you.”

But there’s something else in his eyes now and he steps closer, coming halfway into the kitchen.

She watches him come to a very deliberate stop; watches him wait till her gaze has risen from where his hands are crossed over his front. Till she’s met his eyes.

“Who you protecting – you or me?”

It knocks the air from her lungs, this refrain of something that hadn’t just been something she’d once asked him – no, it’s so much more. A reminder of how things had hurtled from her control.

She remembers the sound the ear had made as it went around and around her garbage disposal.

Remembers him laughing when she’d said that she was going to be arrested for murder.

Her jaw sets.

“I'm protecting my boss. That's what we are, right? Work?”

She stares him down, standing strong; hoping he’ll waver, but after a long moment he just shrugs.

“That’s right.”

It strikes her all over again – stupidly, it’s so stupid – but before she can say anything, his phone is ringing.

“Yo,” he answers it easily.

Beth takes a step back then looks at everything around her.

The last thing in the world she feels like doing is continuing to cook him breakfast and she’s definitely not hungry anymore.

He’s slowly pacing the lounge, talking in a low voice, and it makes her angrier. As if she cares about his business. Or his fucking health. He can starve for all she cares.

Going over to a bookcase, she takes the first thing her eyes land on then plops down into an armchair.

It turns out to be a beer-brewing book, but by the time she realises this, it’s too late. Rio’s finishing his call and she can feel his eyes on her.

They burn holes into the side of her head for a few long moments before she hears him release a long sigh.

She refuses to look up or budge at all as she hears his footsteps, even though listening to what he’s doing is all she’s focused on, the words in front of her blurring.

The tap runs for a while then it shuts off and she hears him go about getting things out in the kitchen. She frowns when she hears the bang of a pot then the stove clicking on.

Too curious, she shoots a look over her shoulder to find him adding vinegar into a pot of water.

She has to turn back around quickly when he twists to get the eggs and she swallows in confusion.

Is he really _making breakfast_ right now?

Beth sits anxiously, trying hard not to tap her leg or appear in any way like she’s paying attention to him.

A few minutes pass and then she hears sounds of dishing; plates being put down. The pantry door opens and now she can’t contain her curiosity any longer.

Standing, she goes over to the counter to see two plates filled with mushrooms and poached eggs.

As if on cue, Rio comes back out of the pantry holding a bag of croissants.

Their eyes meet but neither of them say anything, Beth looking away first.

She sinks down into the seat opposite one of the plates and Rio sets down a fork and knife that, after a second of hesitation, she reaches for.

She hears him crack pepper over his own eggs but he doesn’t pass it to her, setting it down between them when he’s done.

She decides she doesn’t want pepper. Instead she just cuts into her egg, the yolk coming streaming out of it and onto the mushrooms. She blinks down at it.

The man knows how to make a perfect poached egg.

…How is that even possible?

He moves a chair to the very opposite end of the counter then takes a seat and begins to eat.

She reaches for a croissant but then hesitates, biting at her lip.

“…Thank you.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, chewing, but eventually he does respond, not meeting her eyes.

“The mushrooms are good.”


	4. Day 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your ideas, I'm loving them! Sadly, for the moment, it's still slow going with these two...

Beth pushes open the study door.

“Oh god, I’m sorry.”

She twists around quickly, blinking hard as she hears Rio snicker.

“Ain’t nothin you haven’t seen before.”

She swallows.

“The door was open.”

“Yeah, found a pair of sweats that looked like they could fit.”

Hearing the clink of his belt buckle, she slowly turns back around. He’d been halfway through getting his jeans on when she’d pushed in, but now they’re all the way up.

“They didn’t?”

“Was tight in the front,” he gestures around his crotch, seeming to take great glee when it causes her to shift her weight uncomfortably.

“Um, I know we have a clothing issue. I was thinking of going through Iris’ wardrobe and—”

“Iris?”

“Billy’s aunt.”

“Y’all besties now?”

“I found mail. Anyway, I think she used to live here with her husband, so I can sort through the clothing to see if there’s anything that we can wear.”

“Cool. That whatchu wanted to tell me?”

“No, um…” She hesitates for a long moment, not knowing how to ask this without seeming presumptuous. “Do you know how to pick a lock?”

He doesn’t look offended, though, brow just popping up questioningly.

Twisting around, she decides to show him.

He follows her into the kitchen then into the pantry, which she’d spent the better part of four hours cataloguing and re-organising.

And that’s when she’d found…

“Damn,” Rio whistles as she opens the cupboard.

Or, well, it looks like a cupboard. Inside is a glass case filled with liquor.

“Iris seems to have a thing for scotch.”

“The expensive stuff, too,” he nods.

“She locked it up and hid the key,” Beth explains. “I guess she must have been scared of looters, too.”

“Smart lady.”

“And I managed to find the key, but it was back here,” she shows, slipping her fingers behind the case, “and it fell.”

His eyes make quick work of assessing the situation, which is a crevice there’s no way they’re getting into.

“ _Not_ that smart,” he pulls a face. “Though I’m guessin she don’t got butter fingers.”

She glares and he seems to take great pleasure from this before squatting down to inspect the lock.

He doesn’t say anything for a long few seconds and she sighs.

“Can you open it?”

The moment she’d seen all the bottles, she’d known this is the only thing that's going get her through the next two weeks. Then she’d dropped that key and felt all hope leave her body.

He shrugs nonchalantly.

“Sure.”

Oh, thank god.

“I found hair pins.”

She whips them out of her pocket then holds them out to him hopefully. Is that even how you really pick a lock? Beth has no idea.

It’s like he can read her mind – or just the awkward smile on her face – because he seems very amused as he takes them from her.

He inspects them for a second then selects two and drops the rest.

Beth watches the leather arm bands at his wrist as he works; the way his lips purse in concentration.

She’s busy chastising herself for her thoughts when the lock clicks open.

“Yes!” she grins happily. “I’ll get glasses.”

When she gets back, Rio seems to have selected a bourbon, and she's not picky so she just holds out the glasses so he can pour into them.

After she passes him his, she freezes. Remembers.

_Cheers._

_Cheers._

Their eyes meet and she knows he’s thinking about it too.

Beth's throat closes up – clogged with so much she wishes she knew how to say – but then he holds out the bottom of his glass.

Swallowing, she clinks the bottom of hers against it, and then he focuses on the drink, leaning against the wall behind him.

Beth closes her eyes as the liquor hits the back of her throat, strong.

God, yes. She needs this.

His gaze is on the ground when her eyes open again, a cool silence having settled.

And for whatever reason, she finds herself speaking.

“I think Iris’ husband died.”

His head darts up.

“How come?”

“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling,” she admits. “The mail. His bedside table is too neat.”

She’d struggled to sleep last night after this realisation; had laid awake for an hour thinking about it. Thinking about the man in the next room.

“Like recently?”

_Of coronavirus?_

God.

“I don’t know. But his clothes are still in the cupboard.”

They stare at each other for a long while, the pause pregnant, until eventually he takes another sip.

His lip juts out after he’s swallowed.

“That sucks.”

It’s that same artificial ease that makes her feel terrible; that makes her remember this is one situation he has no control of.

As if she hadn’t tossed and turned with the thought after studying the pristine bedside table.

What if he gets sick? What if, just like Iris, she’s left all alone?

“I hope she’s somewhere safe,” she says aloud, for something to say.

The quiet has become too solid and cold again.

He sniffs in something like derision.

“You get attached to people too quick.”

She stares back, surprised by this assessment.

“I don’t think that’s true.”

He takes a long sip before responding, eyes trained on hers.

“That’s ’cuz you real damn good at just lettin em go, too.”

She feels like she’s drowning.

In her guilt; in his condemnation.

In everything between them that burns so much worse than the alcohol.

_I’m gonna take a shower; you should go. It’s over._

And god, she wants to yell because it’s not _fair_.

He doesn’t know how much it had taken for her to do that; he doesn’t know how trapped she’d been.

And how many times hadn’t _he_ tried to end it?

_What me and you had is done; over._

Hadn’t he been the one to say she was nothing special to him?

“Is that better or worse than just never getting attached to begin with?” she accuses.

_That’s what I am? Work?_

_Pretty much, yeah._

He stares at her, long and hard.

For so long that she wonders whether he’ll ever answer. Whether anything she says even matters.

“I wouldn’t know the answer to that, Elizabeth.”

His tone is light, rounded at the edges, and she thinks: he’s a liar.

And a damn good actor. Because if he’d ever felt anything for her, he wouldn’t have ignored her desperate calls; wouldn’t have laughed about her going away for murder.

But she doesn’t want this conversation anymore.

He’s a liar and she hasn’t had nearly enough bourbon yet.

“Are you gonna have dinner tonight?”

She’d drawn up a mental meal plan as she’d catalogued the pantry. There should be enough here to keep them going for at least a week.

Now Rio’s jaw hardens, as if annoyed she’d changed the topic, but it evens out again quickly.

“I’ll find somethin.”

“I don’t mind cooking.”

He shrugs.

“Then do it, then.”

She blinks, trying not to let the sudden meanness get to her. Instead she sets her shoulders.

“You know, I know neither of us wants to be in this situation,” she says, trying to keep her tone very calm. “Trust me, there are about _a thousand_ other places I’d rather be right now. But I’m trying.”

He meets her eyes, biting on the inside of his lip, then shoots a glance around thoughtfully.

She watches, waiting, as he finishes the last of his drink.

It’s after he swallows, lips still gleaming with the liquid, when he finally replies on a breath.

“I know.”

His eyes are softer now, more charitable, and she lets out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“Ok." She inhales deeply. "I’ll finish here then sort the clothing and bring you some stuff.”

His brow jumps up.

“You want me to wear a dead guy’s clothes?”

“Actually,” she bites at her lip awkwardly, “I think her husband was the… fuller one.”

“Oh, so you want me to wear girl clothes?” he scoffs.

“You were going to wear those sweatpants! And besides, would you rather wear the same jeans and t-shirt for the next 14 days?”

“Yea.”

She rolls her eyes and though there’s a hint of a smile on his lips, he doesn’t let up. Instead he just tips his glass a little.

“Thanks for the drink.”

Then he leaves.


	5. Day 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for missing yesterday! Work got really busy, but I bring you: Laundry day! :)

Beth bursts into laughter as Rio enters the kitchen.

He glares. “It ain’t funny.”

He looks like he’s drowning in the pajama pants – the only bottoms of Iris’ husband's that had come near fitting him – even though the drawstring is pulled tight.

“At least you’re comfortable,” she points out.

He doesn’t reply to this, just rolling his eyes, before gesturing towards her.

“Whatchu doin?”

“Baking muffins.”

He surveys the counter pointedly.

“A hundred of em?”

“They freeze well and if we both get sick, we’ll need food.”

He takes a seat, watching her mix.

“You always this over-prepared?”

“Well, I’ve been a mom practically since the age of 15 so, yes, it’s second nature by now.”

There’s quiet for a moment too long and she realises that had been more of a share than she’d intended for it to be.

Then he speaks again.

“You raised your sister?”

She doesn’t meet his eyes, keeping her focus on what she’s doing.

“Most of the time.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“You don’t know a lot about me.”

She flicks her eyes up, now, and he lets out a mocking little breath before jerking his chin.

“Guess not.”

Swallowing, she looks away again, busying herself with readying the muffin tins. She has about two dozen done – one more batch and then they should be set.

“What kinda muffins you makin?”

“Spinach and feta.”

“And whatchu gonna do next? Paint the roof?”

And while that’s not completely out of line considering how she’s practically reorganised everything in the house at this point, it isn’t exactly fair.

“You don’t understand,” she points out, instantly defensive. “You spend all day working. I’m going crazy cooped up like this with nothing to do. _Ironically_ , this is like my life before I met you. Except I don’t even have my kids to keep me busy.”

She lets out a breath after this tirade, hating how revealing it had been – but, at the same time, she feels strangely relieved at getting her frustrations out in the open. It's been nothing short of maddening to have him holed up in the study all day taking calls and doing God knows what else while she counted the floorboards.

Sure, the liquor helps, but even she’s above getting drunk before sunset just to pass time.

Rio smirks.

“You must be gettin a lotta sleep.”

_Knowing you is like having a newborn._

She stares back. “I can’t do this for another ten days. I’m going to lose my mind.”

He watches her for a long moment, seeming to chew over something, then sighs.

“I’ll do some more work out here.”

She blinks back.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean I wouldn’t want you goin crazy.” He seems genuinely concerned, and she’s about to express gratitude when he continues: “You cook my food and I seen Deadly Women.”

He looks really amused as Beth glares.

“You’re a hundred times less funny than you think you are.” She folds her arms. “Also, I checked when I found out I’d be spending the next two weeks with you and there’s no arsenic in the house.”

Rio bursts into laughter, shoulders shaking.

“Good to know.”

Rolling her eyes, she moves on.

“I was thinking about making a fire tonight. It’s been getting pretty cold after the sun sets.”

He twists to regard the fireplace then shrugs.

“A’ight, sounds good.” His eyes are thoughtful when he turns back: “Matter fact, Imma go chop some more wood. Store it up. Think rain’s coming.”

“Ok. After I’m done here, I’ll do some washing so we have more clothing.”

“Cool.”

* * *

Beth hesitates.

God, this is silly. And horrifying. Why, God why, does she have to be in this situation?

But it’s fine – she can hear him chopping outside. It should be fine.

Tentatively she steps one toe out of the bedroom then another and another until she’s in the laundry room.

See, the thing is, she’d only come here in one set of underwear. And it had been kind of fine to go without, but now that she has to wash _her clothing_ as well, it had become a little complicated.

Thanks to Rio’s absolute refusal to wear Iris’ clothing, they’d both had to share her husband’s, which puts Beth down to pretty much no clean clothing. All she has left is Iris’ silky nightgown, which… to say it fits would be generous.

It barely covers her ass, and keeping both her breasts tucked inside is proving to be a mission. But it’s fine. She just needs to get the washer on and then she can escape back to the bedroom and wait it out until the load is done.

The laundry room is narrow just like her own at home, plus a backdoor, and she goes over to it to peer out, checking that Rio’s still out there.

He is, and she means to pull away but suddenly his arms lift up, straining for impact, and she's frozen in place.

He’d changed back into his jeans and his t-shirt is off, tossed to the ground beside him. His golden skin gleams in the dying sunlight and Beth swallows as she takes in his toned muscles; the way they contract and relax as he brings the axe down. The curve of his back bending down with it; curling then releasing. The way the wood splits with the force of it and then he grabs the two pieces; tosses it aside. The black bar tattoos ripple over his corded muscles. 

She has to snap herself out of it when she realises her thighs are rubbing together and, clearing her throat, she forces herself to step away. Then she realises.

Goddamn.

Annoyed, she bangs on the backdoor until Rio turns with a raised brow.

She points at the t-shirt on the ground and it takes him a moment before he grabs it and comes towards the door. She goes over to the washer with a heavy sigh, tightening the belt on the gown as she double-checks that her chest is fully inside.

It’s not like he’s never seen her in only a nightgown before. But at least that one had fit.

The door opens then slams.

“’Sup?”

God, there's a sheen of sweat across his naked chest and it only adds to her anger.

“How exactly am I supposed to wash your clothing if you’re still wearing it?” she snaps.

He’d placed a few other items in the washer, but clearly had been too reluctant to part with his own actual clothing.

Rio seems about to answer when his eyes take her in and whatever had been on his tongue seems to drop away.

He wets his lips and she tries not to let a blush rise, looking away to busy herself with tossing her own clothing in and measuring out the detergent.

It’s nearly a minute later when he finally speaks.

“Guessin Iris’ panties don’t fit.”

Oh god.

Her face is definitely hot red now as she tugs the gown down violently, extra embarrassed when she hears his little laugh.

“I need your jeans,” she growls.

“Right. And what am I supposed to wear?”

“What about those sweats?”

“Told you they don’t work.”

“I’m sure it's not that bad. And it’ll be less than an hour until this is dry.”

She waits for a response but there’s none – all of a sudden he’s just passing behind her and, god. It’s a fairly tight squeeze, but the way his body presses into hers isn’t completely necessary, and her eyes shut as his jeans graze against the backs of her bare legs, deliberate.

A short breath escapes her lips and then he’s gone.

Her knuckles turn white as her fingers wrap around the edge of the washer. She feels so naked, too vulnerable, and it’s like he knows it. Like he’s playing with her.

He’s back in a minute, sticking the jeans and t-shirt out to her.

“Y’know there's easier ways of gettin me outta my pants, right?”

He snickers as she plucks it from his grasp, hoping her hair hides her blush.

He passes behind her again but with less contact this time, and the door slams behind him.


	6. (contd)

Beth pulls the hoodie on thankfully. 

After earlier, the less skin she’s showing, the better.

She’d already laid out Rio’s dried clothing on his couch and now she’s excited to cook dinner.

Making the muffins this afternoon had made her feel productive; useful. She’d decided that even if Rio is intent on not having dinner, she’ll cook.

She comes to a surprised stop when she gets to the kitchen, though.

Rio is at the sink… doing dishes.

It takes Beth a good few seconds to process this and by the time she has, he’s shooting a glance over his shoulder.

“Thanks for the clothes.”

She clears her throat. “You’re doing dishes?”

“Uh huh. Also. Had a muffin.”

She approaches sceptically.

“Did you like it?”

He shrugs. “Not bad.”

She glares at his back even though she knows this is what encroaches on a compliment for him.

“You cookin?”

She nods as she comes up beside him.

“Yeah. How do you feel about lasagne?”

“Is there meat in it?” He turns to regard her expression then sighs. “Mushrooms?”

“Bingo.” She feels pretty gleeful about his annoyance. “Also I have spinach left over from earlier.”

“I swear my kid eats less fuckin spinach.”

She laughs a little, moving to get out everything she’ll need.

“It’s actually… kind of a good thing. We need to use up everything fresh before it goes bad. There are dozens of carrots, so I was thinking about making a carrot cake.”

“I like carrot cake.”

“You do?”

They spend the next 15 minutes like this, her prepping all her veg as he does the dishes, going back and forth about foods they do and don’t like. He doesn’t actually mind vegetables, it turns out, but he likes meat, too, with which she can’t disagree.

“You don’t have to be so grumpy about mushrooms, though.”

“Think I’m allowed when I normally make em like once a week and now it’s on my plate every day.”

She’s on his side of the kitchen, now, frying off the mushrooms, and she looks at him in surprise.

“You cook?”

“Sometimes,” he shrugs. “For my kid.”

Oh. She hadn’t thought of that.

She passes him the chopping board and he presses it into the soapy water.

“So remind me why I’m the only one doing all the cooking?”

“’Cuz you wanted to,” he responds with a raised brow.

She smiles. “Fair enough.”

“And I made those eggs.”

“Oh, yeah.” Remembering his earlier comment: “They weren’t bad.”

He laughs and she bites away a smile, busying herself with adding the onions and garlic.

“I make a damn good burger,” he says, going to collect the rest of the dishes she’d dirtied while prepping.

“Really?”

“Uh huh. If we ever see meat again, I’ll make you one.”

Smiling a little, she meets his eyes.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

And, god, maybe it’s too much because he looks away suddenly, sniffing uncomfortably.

She shifts her weight, feeling awkward.

Was that her fault? She hadn’t meant to make it— what? What about that had upset him?

She’s distracted, thankfully, when she realises she’d forgotten to prep for the next part of the recipe.

“Hey, could you get me some basil?”

He dries his hands. “Sure.”

“It’s the—”

“I know what basil looks like, Elizabeth.”

Her ears burn and she breathes a sigh of relief once he’s in the pantry.

But her reprieve only lasts a few seconds – he’s back quickly with a handful of herbs and she clears her throat.

“Could you give it a rough chop? I have to keep an eye on this.”

He moves to do this and then suddenly he’s beside her with it, a little too close for comfort, and she moves away under the guise of giving him space to add it.

There’s silence, but for the sound of dishes clanging, for a long few minutes as she finishes the sauce then sets it to simmer.

Spotting the bottle of wine on the counter, she goes to grab glasses.

Wordlessly she fills them both halfway with the red wine then waits, staring at his back.

After a second he turns, surveys the situation, then dries his hands with a sigh.

It’s when he’s coming over, reluctant yet breezy, that she suddenly remembers: red wine makes her really horny.

But it’s too late now.

They clink with the most bulbous parts of their glasses then take a sip, eyes glued to one another’s. She doesn’t know how it always happens, but it feels right. Somehow, despite everything, it still feels right.

And she wonders – is that what had upset him?

“Food smells good,” he breaks the silence.

“Am I turning you vegetarian?”

He throws his head back with laughter and it’s so surprising, so nice, that she feels a smile rise to her own lips.

The wine is warming her body fast, relaxing her muscles, and she takes another long sip because it’s making her feel _good_.

“Not likely, darlin.”

She shrugs a shoulder as coyly as she can manage.

“I like a challenge.”

“I know you do.” It comes out coolly, but there’s so much more in his eyes. “Me too.”

It brings memories at a breakneck speed.

_Say my name._

_What? No._

She swallows, trying desperately to ignore her body’s response.

Then he’s reaching for her and her eyes nearly flutter closed, but his hand only lands on the hoodie she’s wearing.

“Ain’t this mine?”

Thank god.

It annoys her just enough to break her out of the hypnotised haze she’d been in.

Scoffing, she sets her shoulders.

“You can’t have all his clothes. What am I supposed to wear?”

He smirks, eyes flicking up and down, and oh, god.

 _Nothing_. That’s what he wants to say.

She swallows gratefully when he doesn’t, though, leaning away.

“I got some work to do. Lemme know when the food’s done.”

“Ok.”

* * *

_Faster, please._

_Yeah?_

Beth stirs the sauce with one hand as the other lifts the glass to her lips.

She’s trying to erase it but, really, the wine is only making it worse. That day is getting all mixed up in her mind with today, and not just the obvious but smaller things, too. Him washing dishes. Him passionately arguing against peas. Him holding the material of her hoodie between two fingers, his scent overwhelming in her nose mixed with the smell of fresh laundry.

The way he’d looked at her.

It makes her remember his eyes on her in that bathroom; the way he’d looked at her after she’d kissed him in her bedroom.

God, she’s going to explode.

Setting down the glass, she gives the sauce one last stir then turns it down to the lowest heat and makes a beeline for the bedroom. She nearly trips over her own feet on the way there, some hazardous combination of tipsy and turned on.

She pulls the hoodie off as soon as she’s locked the door then continues undressing as she makes her way to the bathroom.

God, she doesn’t want to do this. But her entire body is begging her for it.

She can barely breathe.

Vaguely she remembers him saying he could hear into the bedroom, so she shuts the door then turns the shower on, pressing her back against the cold tiles.

The first place her mind goes, her eyes fluttering closed, is the scrape of his jeans against her bare legs and ass; his breath falling onto her shoulders.

An _oh_ falls from her lips as her hand slides down, imagining him having put his hand on her. Just like in that bathroom, fingers digging into her skin. Then curling around…

It’s so warm between her legs and she whimpers a little. In her mind it’s his fingers parting her folds, slipping inside.

She gasps at how wet she is and it takes her to that day, sunlight streaming into her bedroom as he’d pressed her onto her back.

 _His_ gasp as he’d found her dripping; his curses breathy as she kicked off her jeans and parted her legs around his body.

_His breaths are fast as he kisses down her stomach, Beth trying to concentrate on anything but his fingers inside her._

_“Fuck. Your body, ma.”_

_She clenches and he smirks, kissing lower._

Her mind jumps back to this afternoon.

What if he’d just flipped over the gown and pressed himself against her? What if he’d palmed the soft of her ass in his rough hand? What if he’d already been hard and ready for her?

She’s burning up thinking about it; she can't breathe.

What if he’d just taken her right then and there, against the washer?

“Oh my god,” she moans.

She sees the gleam of his body as he brings down the axe, biceps swelling then releasing. A drop of sweat traversing the plane of his back.

Her free hand squeezes at her breast as her fingers move faster, hips darting to meet them.

_I like a challenge._

_I know you do. Me too._

And now she can no longer hold back the memory, it’s too much.

_He brings their bodies to a sudden standstill and her eyes fly open._

_There’s a light sheen across his chest and her eyes move from it over to his tattoo and then to his mischievous expression._

_“What?” she snaps._

_He smiles and it’s deceptively innocent._

_“Say my name.”_

_“What?” she frowns, scoffing. “No.”_

_She’s avoided it for this long – it’s already too much with the way he stretches out her name to its fullest and uses it as a weapon against her._

_“Hmm,” he nods. “Ok.”_

_She whimpers when he pulls out, immediately empty and filled with both regret and anger. But then he’s reaching for her knees, lifting them up until her feet are in the air._

_Her throat dries, his eyes not moving from hers as he presses back into her._

_“Oh my god,” she moans._

_It’s like he’s everywhere; she’s so full she can barely breathe. He gives her a second to adjust then slowly slides back out._

_No, no, she needs him inside her._

_She wants to_ make him _, but he’s out of reach, her legs up between them, and she’s about to sob when he fills her up again, so goddamn slow._

_“Faster, please,” she cries out._

_“Yeah?” he asks, eyes gleaming._

_He gives just a little, quickening his thrust the slightest bit, and her back arches with it. Yes. More._

_She bites her lip into her mouth, trying so hard not to._

_But she can’t, she can’t. She needs him._

_“Please, Rio.”_

_Before she’s even finished registering the smug delight on his face, he’s pounding into her, deep, and her sob gurgles in her throat. But it’s his name, his name._

_And by the time he’s built a punishing rhythm, harsh and obscenely loud, there’s nothing on her lips but_ Rio _._


	7. Day 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So glad you guys liked the last one, I was a bit nervous! Now we move into a new day with new challenges...

“Hey.”

The greeting is mumbled into the sleeve of her sweatshirt as she barely looks up. She doesn't really want his attention, but he clearly hadn't caught sight of her upon entering the lounge and it seems rude not to say anything.

“Yo.”

There’s a frown on his face as he comes to a stop, looking over her curled into herself on the couch.

“You been scarce.”

She shrugs. “I slept in.”

“Hungover, huh?” he smirks.

She glares and he grins, hesitating for a second before coming to join her on the couch, seating himself on the opposite end.

“Good fire,” he nods at the fireplace.

“Thanks.”

He’s still looking at her like she’s some kind of puzzle, but she speaks before he can.

“I’m warming leftovers in the oven. If you want more lasagne.”

“Yeah, it was good.”

She tucks a bit of a smile against her arm as she adjusts her gaze back to the fire.

There’s silence for a long few minutes, the cracks from the fire seeming to lash out between them and emphasise the quiet. 

“You ok?”

She looks up in surprise, frowning.

“Why are you asking?”

He gestures. “’Cuz it don’t seem like it.”

“No, I mean why do you care?”

A hundred thoughts seem to pass between them – _No, why me?_ – but he lets them all go, shrugging.

“Gotta stop you from goin crazy, right?”

She smiles just the tiniest bit, remembering their jokes about her poisoning him.

“I’m just…”

Lonely. She’d woken this morning and her pounding head had seemed to beat it into her: she’d spent the night cooking for, drinking about and getting herself off to a man who has no interest in her.

And outside of that, _here_ , what is there? Divorce papers. Swapping off into some new apartment with Dean. Seeing her children every few days.

Her life is a mess and these 14 days – the whole pandemic, really – is just delaying it, not revoking it. She has nothing and no one – not even him, which is some kind of karmic justice.

 _This stuff’s medieval, darlin_ – well, he’s biblical, too. The beginning and the end.

_Maybe you don’t want to quit._

_I do!_

_Then I don’t think you can._

Her whole life – her whole _person_ ; everything she’d once known about herself – up in smoke, with him at the centre of it all. But he can just walk away from it, unaffected; fireproof.

_I’m about to be arrested for murder!_

_That sucks._

She’s nothing to him, even here, even now. Even stuck in a house with nobody else, the only place he wants her is in her own mind.

Nothing and no one.

“…missing the rest of the world,” she finishes with a sigh.

He watches her solidly and she wonders if he can tell she’s lying. And if he can, whether he’ll say anything.

Because she’d told him she’s trying and ever since, he’s been trying, too. Joking with her, flirting, talking about vegetables, pretending it’s all ok when it’s not. It’s all artificial, all a farce to make it through this.

And she’d been grateful, at first. But the wine haze had vanished to leave a kind of clarity, a sharp emptiness, that she can’t shake.

His mouth twists, like he’s about to say something.

And then everything goes black.

“Oh my god.”

It takes her eyes a second to adjust and then she catches sight of him with his finger pressed to his lips.

She jerks her head into a nod and then he jumps up, twisting away.

“Wait!” she whisper-screams.

He turns back around and she shakes her head.

“Don’t leave me here.”

He hesitates for a long second then nods, holding out his hand.

Scrambling up, she takes it.

They freeze.

It feels wrong and right and _too much_. Too reminiscent, too much like that night.

_You trust me?_

_God, no._

His eyes burn in the firelight and she swallows, heart beating out of her chest for too many reasons.

Then, with a breath, he breaks the moment, turning away.

They hold onto each other as they make their way down the passage. It’s when she almost steps on his foot that she realises they’re both barefoot.

 _Sorry_ , she mouths, and he rolls his eyes.

They find a rhythm quickly, moving together, and she’s surprised when he stops at the study.

He gets his phone out of his pocket, turns on the torch then shines it inside, scoping it out.

Releasing her hand, he darts inside.

He’s back in a second, gun in hand and – god. Of course that’s why they’re here.

He takes her hand with his left this time, the gun in his right, and they keep moving.

“Could it just be a power outage?” she asks, antsy.

“That or someone cut sum’n.”

She doesn’t say anything as they finally make it to the electrical box.

“Get your phone out, turn on the torch,” he instructs.

She does this, eyes widening when he holds his gun out to her.

“You still ’member how to use it?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Get my back.”

She swallows harshly as he hands her the gun, but he doesn’t say anything else, going to fiddle with the box, and she turns her back to him, keeping her arms outstretched as she watches for any movement.

It feels like forever – a minute protracted into hours – when finally he lets out a short breath.

“We good.”

Her sigh is relieved too as she turns back around, placing her phone down so the light shines up into the room.

“What now? We can’t call anyone or report it, this house is supposed to be empty.”

He considers this for a moment before unlocking his phone.

“We can check if the lines are busy,” he says, before pulling up the number.

He calls it then hangs up after a few seconds.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Must be a problem on their side.”

Her shoulders sag in relief.

“Ok, so we can relax?”

“Naw,” he scoffs. “Doors and windows need checkin then we gotta keep our game face on. Know how many burglaries happen during power outages?”

“God.”

His hand caresses over hers and it takes her a second before she realises he’s trying to get his gun back.

She releases it and then he takes a step closer to inspect her, brows creased in concern.

“You ok?”

She blinks.

“That’s the second time tonight you’ve asked me that.”

“And I still don’t got an answer.”

She looks at him, passing her gaze over his half-illuminated eyes; jaw; lips.

He’s so close. They're surrounded by darkness.

And they may not be touching anymore, but she still feels his hand enveloping hers. Protecting her. Trusting her to protect him.

“I’m ok.”

He takes another small step closer, their breaths mixing, and then his hand comes up. Softly, with just a finger, he pushes her hair out of her face.

Her eyes flutter closed for a second and when they open, he’s not touching her anymore, just looking down at her.

“Good, ’cuz you stepped on my foot.”

She gasps.

“I barely touched it!”

“Hmm. You’d trip me up and get us both killed, momma.”

She’s in giggles, about to defend herself, when suddenly the power clicks on, humming as light floods the house again.

He looks pleased, first that he’d made her laugh, then turning to regard the house.

“Cool,” he nods, decisive. “How’s dinner lookin?”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, no! The food was in the oven!”

She rushes into the kitchen and he’s behind her, groaning.

“You couldn’ta just stuck it in the microwave?”

“Lasagne doesn’t warm properly in the microwave,” she rolls her eyes, heading to the oven.

“Whatever," he mutters, going towards the pantry. "I need a drink."

“Make mine a double.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting serious and I'd love to hear your thoughts :)


	8. Day 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 6 💃 💃 Thank you guys so much for sticking with me!

“Where’s gangfriend?”

The kids had gotten high on sugar last night then crashed fast, so they’d had their call this morning. But now that they’ve gone off to entertain themselves, Annie’s clearly decided that it’s time for the interrogative part of the call.

“In the shower,” she shrugs.

Which is why she’s out in the lounge doing this, making it not so great that Annie’s now turned the conversation to the man who could enter at any point.

“Which is in your room, right?”

“It’s not _my_ room,” she rolls her eyes, “but yes, in the room.”

Annie puts on a thinking face.

“Do you think he’s a whistler?”

Beth has to repress a snort.

“ _No_.”

Annie seems about to reply when suddenly her jaw drops open, eyes rounding, and Beth’s confused for a second before turning around.

Her heart jumps into her throat before she quickly twists back around to put the laptop on mute.

She clears her throat as she turns back to Rio, who has a towel around his hips but is otherwise naked, body littered with drops of water.

“So the shower broke.”

She blinks.

“You mean you broke the shower?”

He seems very annoyed with this accusation, but manages to hold back an eye roll.

“Just don’t use it till I fix it.”

“You’re gonna fix it?”

Now he looks extra irritated, wetting his lips.

“That tone s’pposed to mean somethin?”

“No. Not at all.”

He sniffs. “Good.”

She’s about to reply but then suddenly his gaze veers and she follows only to find Annie waving manically.

Quickly she turns the laptop around, clearing her throat.

“So you’re done?”

“Uh huh.”

He flicks his eyes over her and the laptop then exits the lounge, heading to the study.

She waits a few seconds then takes all her things to the bedroom, closes the door and finally unmutes Annie.

“That tone was _totally_ supposed to mean something, which is that that guy is _not_ the handyman type – and I agree a hundred percent.”

“You’re going to get me killed.”

* * *

It’s less than ten minutes later when she knocks on the study door.

She’d had to force an end to the call when her sister had started waxing on about handyman pornos and asking if aunt Iris has a tripod.

“Yeah.”

She opens the door warily but he’s dressed, texting.

“Do you need the computer?”

“Sure.”

She passes it over then regards him.

“How do you feel about Quorn curry for dinner tonight?”

“What happened to the lasagne?”

“I froze the rest of it. In case we get sick.”

“And what if we don’t, huh? You gon’ invoice Iris for all that food in her freezer?”

She laughs. “Well, technically, it was her ingredients, so that would be kind of weird.”

He looks amused before seemingly going back to her original question, brows furrowing in confusion.

“Why would you put corn in curry?”

“Oh, no – corn with a Q.”

“The fuck is that?”

“It’s a meat substitute—”

“Naw,” he shakes his head vehemently, “I’m done with these damn substitutes. Imma go find a store and get some meat in this place.”

He stands, sticking his phone in his pocket and going for his gun. Beth watches, torn. It’s a risk, but…

“Well, we _do_ need a few other things, too—”

“Cool, make me a list.”

Wait, what?

She stares at him in horror.

“You can’t leave me here.”

“Why not?”

She folds her arms. “It’s not safe and you know it.”

He stares at her for a long moment, clearly weighing up the advantages of continuing the argument, then sighs.

“Fine. We leave in two.”

* * *

It’s a thirty-minute drive to the nearest store and… Rio passes it.

“Why couldn’t we go there?”

He shakes his head.

“Mom and pop ain’t gonna have clothing.”

Deciding arguing against this would be useless, she sits back quietly for the next fifteen minutes until they pull up at a big-box retailer.

The parking lot is conspicuously empty, which makes her jittery.

Rio seems to notice.

“You sure you wanna go in?” 

“Yeah,” she nods. “We have a lot to get, it’ll be quicker. It’s just… seeing the world like this is strange. A little scary.”

He follows her gaze with a hum of agreement.

“Yeah, it’s some end-of-days shit for sure.”

“Think we’ll ever go back to how things used to be?”

She’s looking back at him, words off her tongue, before she realises.

God. She hadn’t meant it like _that_ but now it sits between them, her lungs inept as he stares back at her, jaw working.

Then he shakes his head.

“Thing about life is, nothin ever goes back. You can take what you learned or you can do the same stupid shit again, but the only way is forward, there ain’t no choice in that.”

He flicks his gaze away.

“C’mon.”

* * *

Once in the store – after their hands and cart had been sanitised – they split up.

Beth goes for everything fresh while he gets meat, a few tinned goods and bread. She starts with dairy, where she notices huge signs indicating that there’s a limit per customer. God. How strange and horrifying.

She takes only one carton of milk then moves on. She’s grinning at the last packaging of crescent rolls, immediately craving them – she hadn’t had the chance to have breakfast yet. She takes it happily then checks her list for what to get next. Juice.

“Uh, lady.”

She turns to see a man behind her. He’s dressed like an IT guy and is very tall, generally reminding her of Dean in his twenties.

“Hi. Sorry, am I in your way?”

“Yeah. I wanted those rolls.”

Oh.

“I’m sure they’ll restock soon, the guy at the front said—”

“Just give me those.”

She stares, taken aback.

The realisation suddenly dawns that she’s all alone in this aisle.

“You could try another store, maybe they’ll have more.”

“You’re really not just gonna give them to me? Can’t you just make a batch from fresh? You look like you could.”

She bristles. “That’s a nice compliment – but I got them first and you’re being really rude.”

“ _I’m_ being rude?” He steps forward, into her space. “Just give me the rolls, what the hell is your problem?”

“Excuse me?” she scoffs.

Her back is pressing into the fridge and she’s not sure if he’s actually just going to grab it from her. He looks like he’s weighing up the same thought and Beth swallows – there’s no way she’ll be able to overpower him if he tries to go for them.

“We got a problem here?”

Her body jolts with the sound of his voice, shock then relief ebbing from her stomach to her shoulders.

The guy turns around and Rio’s standing there, brow cocked. God, he looks terrifying.

But, for once, it’s not toward her.

“Do you work here or something?”

Rio shifts his shoulders, folding his arms over his front.

“Does it look like I work here?”

Beth takes in his dark jeans, black t-shirt and black wool coat. And, above it all, the menacing tattoo.

“I just want the fucking rolls, dude.”

“And if she wanted to give em to ya, she woulda.”

He steps closer, somehow managing to overshadow him despite not being as tall.

“Now get outta my face and make sure I don’t see you again or I ain’t gon’ be so charitable.”

He lifts his t-shirt so there’s a flash of golden metal and she swears she can _hear_ the guy swallow.

Then he stumbles away, shooting her one last look and Beth drums up a cheerful smile.

“You should try making them from scratch. It’s really rewarding.”

He glares then speeds out of the aisle, toward the exit, and Beth waits till he’s gone before letting up, shoulders sagging.

Rio steps in closer, squeezing at her arm.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” she breathes. “God. I know I should’ve just given it to him, but—”

“Naw. No one takes your shit.”

Suddenly remembering who she’s talking to, she looks up at him.

His eyes are very serious, but she can’t help smiling at him trying to turn this into a teachable moment.

“That’s easy for you to say,” she teases. “You’re a man. And you have a gun.”

“And you still stood your ground,” he points out. “You got fight in you, momma.”

“Or I just really like crescent rolls.”

He throws his head back with laughter before shaking his head, smile still on his face.

“A’ight, you done here?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, let’s go get some clothes.”

They spend a while in the clothing section, Beth focusing on grabbing any underwear that looks like it even might just fit. Their carts are nearly overflowing by the time they make it to the cashier.

Once it’s all rung up, Rio whips out a black card and pays for it all.

“Thanks so much, enjoy your day,” the cashier says cheerily.

“Naw, thank you,” he shakes his head. “Thanks for still bein out here.”

He pulls a twenty from his pocket then puts it in the tip jar.

Beth thanks the cashier too and then they leave, sanitising again before pushing their carts out together.

“I got a part for the shower, so I’ll fix it when we get home.”

When _we_ get _home_.

She forces herself to swallow this down, nodding.

“And I got cream cheese, so I’ll make that carrot cake.”

“Hmm. You know how to make cinnamon rolls?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed :)


	9. Day 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I skipped two days! This chapter required extra attention and thanks to the long weekend, I also had to do 6 days worth of work in 4. Speaking of which, I hope you have the loveliest weekend and, as always, that you'll enjoy this :)

Beth represses a giggle as Rio lets out his hundredth sigh.

If she ever needs a stress reliever, she’s just going to recall this memory of watching Rio, her strict crime boss, get repeatedly put on hold.

She takes a sip of her bourbon then tunes back in.

“Then put me on with the last guy I already gave it to.”

Beth tucks her legs under herself. This had all started two drinks ago, which means she’s reached the point where she’s less interested in the movie they’re trying to get set up and more tipsily tickled by the myriad manifestations of his annoyance. She’s never realised how entertaining it is when not aimed at her.

Although he has rubbed his hand over his forehead once or twice in frustration and didn't take too kindly to her reminder not to touch his face.

“Look, man, can you get me set up or what?”

She takes another sip as he shoots her a glance.

“This ain’t funny.”

“Uh-huh,” she grins, delighted.

He rolls his eyes before focusing back on the guy on the phone and after a bit more back and forth, he starts doing something on the laptop.

A minute later, the error message finally disappears. He lets out a breath of relief, fast forwarding a little to check if the problem crops up again.

They’d spent close to an hour arguing about what to watch and then, when they’d finally agreed, it had gotten thirty seconds in before grinding to a halt.

But it plays smoothly now, and Rio thanks the person on the other end before hanging up.

“Fuckin finally,” he says with a rush of breath. Then he jerks his head towards it. “You still wanna watch?”

Honestly? No. She’d been sceptical about the idea to begin with – since when do they watch movies together? – but hadn’t felt like she could say no to the suggestion considering she’d been the one to call him out for leaving her alone all the time.

Still. She doesn’t feel entirely capable of moving, the liquor like concrete in her veins, so she nods.

“Sure.”

He nods then places the laptop on the coffee table and presses play.

If only because it’s taking her eyes a few beats longer to do anything she tells them to, she finds herself watching him settle.

He slumps lower into his seat, just like he does when he’s in the passenger side of her car, then curls one leg under the other, jaw relaxing.

Then finally her gaze moves to the screen, where someone is getting murdered.

* * *

Beth’s trying really hard to follow the story.

But everything’s a little blurry and, honestly, she can’t stop thinking.

The main character is just so… dynamite. No. No, that’s not it.

Dynamic! Yes. Moving.

Moving forward toward a goal. A real goal. Real. A real goal.

“Want some water?”

She doesn’t know what prompts Rio to ask this, but she accepts the offered bottle as he pauses the movie. It comes to a stop on the main character's face.

Beth takes a sip, muttering.

“What?” he frowns.

Swallowing, she repeats.

“I wish I could be her.”

His frown deepens.

“You wanna be _her_?”

“Yes.”

“She just slit someone’s throat,” he points out.

Ok, maybe she’d missed that.

But.

Dynamite.

“She’s strong,” Beth points out. “Independent. She can do whatever she wants whenever she wants to; nobody can control her.” She thinks for a moment. “Or she’ll slit their throat.”

He watches her for a long moment as she takes another sip then passes the bottle back to him, her head too dizzy to risk sitting up.

He sets it down then looks at her again, scepticism in his brows.

“And you ain’t?”

Is she?

It’s too much to sort through in her head.

So she says the first thing off her tongue.

“My husband blackmailed me with my children. And it worked. I couldn’t live without them for one day. It felt… like I was going insane. So I gave in and I gave up, I gave up... what I shouldn't have.”

It’s quiet for a while. She doesn’t lift her gaze from her sleeve to look at him.

And, oh. She remembers now. The throat-slitting. She’d liked it.

It had seemed so… freeing.

Like no one could hurt her without repercussions, like no one could take from her, like—

“You livin without em now.”

Looking up a little, she pouts.

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

His eyes are dark, unreadable.

And, she thinks—

“I wish I could be you.”

He doesn’t seem to take it as a compliment, scoffing.

“’Cuz bein me is so easy?”

“I don’t know what it’s like to be you,” she shakes her head, suddenly so, so tired. “But it seems freer.”

He stares back at her wordlessly and, after a few seconds, she clears her throat.

“I have to pee.”

* * *

Rio watches her haphazardly head toward the bedroom.

He shoulda made her drink more water.

She’d been muttering into her sleeve, somethin about dynamite or somethin, and that’s when he’d realised she’s bombed.

He sighs, lookin around.

She’s taking her sweet-ass time and it’s making him jittery.

He stands, stretches his legs. Then he starts cleaning up, throwing out the few kernels at the bottom of the popcorn bowl.

Fuck.

It’s curling under his damn skin now. He’d tried to distract himself, but the quiet pressing in around him makes it impossible, like her words are still ringing in the air.

_I don’t know what it’s like to be you. But it seems freer._

It makes him so damn mad ’cuz he _can’t be_ mad. In vino fuckin veritas, right? He don’t think she woulda said none of that sober and the thing is…

Thing is, he gets what the hell she’s talkin about. It ain’t true, but.

He’s worked so hard to make it seem like she’s less to him than she is, ’cuz something’s gotta give, man.

He can’t get caught like that again; can’t get played no more. Can’t think he’s at the final inning again just to get kicked outta the game.

So fake it till you make it, right? And now she does; thinks he’s free of her, that he don’t got no ties to no one and nothin.

So goddamn ironic since all he does is feel weighed down by her. By that damn day.

_I’m out of bread, anyway._

Fuck. Just thinking about her smile messes him up, and now they’re stuck here and he has to see so much more of her. See her all grumpy in the morning before her coffee, hair fluffy and sticking up everywhere. See her cook for him – she hums brokenly and he don’t think she knows it. See her barefoot with her hair all wet from the shower then go in there afterward and smell her everywhere.

It’s a never-ending nightmare and he keeps slipping, keeps forgetting. Keeps being sucked in by her and his uncontrollable want for everything she is.

And all of that, all of that, and she thinks _he’s_ free? Naw, man, naw.

It ain’t fuckin right. Calling him the free one when _she_ just walked away like none of it meant nothin. Then she got the audacity to ask _him_ whether they’re work or not? 

And where the hell is she, anyway?

He goes stalking toward the bedroom, mad now despite himself, then stops once he’s pushed the door open.

She’s sprawled on the bed, legs and arms splayed. Asleep.

And, damn. He’s smiling again.

_What am I doing here, Elizabeth?_

Stepping closer, he moves the hair out of her face.

Her lips part as she swallows at the touch and it makes him remember kissing her.

Damn, he misses it. Misses getting to touch her, really touch her. The way he’d gotten a taste of that day before it'd been ripped away from him.

He pulls his hand down through her hair then onto her back, relishing just this before, with a sigh, moving to get at the blanket. She’s half on top of it and it becomes a two-arm thing that nearly sends her toppling at one point, but then he finally gets it out from under her and covers her up to the neck in it.

And he finds he ain’t so mad no more. She has a way of doing that, don’t she?

“Night, Elizabeth.”


	10. Day 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad you guys liked that one, yay! I can't believe we're finally onto Week 2! Here we go ;)

Beth spends most of the morning in active recovery.

She takes a long shower then hydrates like crazy. She even makes a green smoothie.

It’s a few hours in when she realises she hasn’t seen Rio today.

They don’t see all that much of each other throughout the course of the day usually, but normally she’s seen him at least once by breakfast time.

She spends a few minutes casually walking around so that she could conceivably act like she’d just bumped into him when she finds him, but she becomes substantially less casual when she realises he’s not in the study or in the laundry room or outside chopping wood. Nor is he in the pantry or the bathroom.

Wait. What?

She’s beginning to panic, heading to the front door, when suddenly she catches movement out of the corner of her eye.

The deck.

It isn’t too big – really just holding a cushioned bench – but there is a nice view that she sometimes enjoys with a cup of coffee.

But she’s never seen him out there before. A frown settles on her face as she heads that way.

He looks up when the door opens, but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge her.

And she knows, immediately.

“Morning.”

He jerks his head in her general direction, some sort of greeting, and her stomach sinks further.

Something’s wrong.

“Coffee?” she offers.

He doesn’t have a cup every morning the way she does, but she’s at a loss for what else to say.

He shakes his head wordlessly, eyes on the view.

She hesitates, thinking of leaving, but then remembers there’s nowhere else to go. No one else but him.

So she lowers down on the other side of the bench, an almost perfect six feet between them.

“Are you ok?”

Her words, laced with unease, sit in the morning air for a moment too long. It ticks over.

Then he speaks, voice gruff.

“Fine.”

God. Is she this difficult to deal with when she’s in her own head?

She decides to go for a pointed question.

“What happened last night?”

Had she said something? Did something?

“You had a lil too much and passed out.”

“I’m feeling that,” she admits with a groan-laugh. “Did we finish the movie? Did we _watch_ the movie?” She presses her fingers into her eyes. “I _think_ I remember some parts of it…”

He throws an amused glance her way.

“ _I_ finished it.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head; brushes this off.

“’S ok.”

And he genuinely doesn’t seem to care, but he’s also looking back out at the view, focused on not looking at her, and she clears her throat.

“You’re really not going to tell me what’s wrong?”

The silence is longer this time, fuller; like he’s considering.

A breeze blows by, bringing with it the sound of frogs croaking in the distance. One or two birds tweet.

There’s a serenity to it she doesn’t feel inside herself, not with him like this.

“Just missin my kid.”

It comes out almost muffled, as if half-bitten back; restrained. Honest.

Oh.

“You spoke to him this morning?”

He nods but, almost deliberately before she can ask anything else, he lets out a long breath, standing.

“Imma do a lap,” he gestures towards the woods. “Won’t be long.”

She blinks.

“Ok.”

He’s gone in an instant.

She’d forgotten that he’d bought workout clothing too; a pair of trainers. Hadn’t thought much more of it at the time; hadn’t seen its potential as a way to get away from her.

Beth hugs herself. It’s cold out here, but it’s not only that.

 _He’s_ cold. Or – distant. Hurting. She isn’t sure.

She’s never seen him like this before and, she realises. She’s always found him mercurial, unpredictable. She can never know what new challenge he’ll bring into her life.

But it hits her now, for the first time, that he’s always been the same _him_. Rougher, sometimes; more taunting, at others. But always the same him, light behind his eyes; a zeal to him even when they’re fighting.

That had been gone now. Because he misses his son.

And she doesn’t know how to bring it back, how to fix that.

But she does know how to make cinnamon rolls.

* * *

“ _Please_ tell me I’m smellin what I think I’m smellin.”

She smiles as he comes into the kitchen, clearly having followed the scent from the study.

“You owe me.”

“Yeah?”

And, god. His eyes are lit up and he’s smiling; _smiling_.

She’d seen him for only a few seconds after his run, when he’d passed into the bedroom to shower, and he’d seemed better. But not quite as light again; not entirely unburdened.

That was hours ago.

She’d made the dough, let it chill then rolled out it out and filled it. Had let it rise and now, finally, they’re about to have cinnamon rolls.

She’s in a good mood, too.

There’s some tension in her shoulders from the entire dough process plus making the frosting. But overall, baking always makes her happy. Plus, during the chilling time, she’d called her kids and they seem to be doing really well.

God, she can’t believe it’s been a week.

One more to go.

He comes to stand beside her at the sink, where she’s washing the dishes.

“You need some help?”

And her back does hurt a lot but she’s also almost done so, looking up, she shakes her head.

“No, I’m— OW! Fuck!”

Before he can ask what’s happened, the water turns red around her hands and he yanks at her wrists, bringing both her hands out.

The one’s holding a knife while the other flashes bright pink for a long moment. Then blood erupts, scarlet against her pale skin.

Rio mutters something under his breath then starts the tap running and pulls her hand under it.

He disappears and she stares at the gash in disbelief. It hurts _a lot_.

Distracted, it seems like she’d accidentally cut right through the meatiest part of her hand. She tries pulling it away from the stream of water, but it continues bleeding, and she winces at the sting when she puts it back under.

Ow ow ow ow ow.

Suddenly Rio’s back, placing the first aid kit on the counter then opening it up and setting everything out.

“A’ight, c’mon, let’s look at it.”

He makes her drop the knife first then shuts off the tap. He inspects the wound – for what, she doesn’t know – then wraps a clean towel around her hand once the bleeding starts again.

“Hold it tight,” he instructs, nodding when she does. “Yeah. ’Kay, c’mon.”

He lopes an easy arm around her to pull her over to his first-aid setup and Beth’s gaze goes to his face as he looks down, eyes analytical.

He’s muttering things to himself as he inspects various items and then finally he looks at her.

“How much does it hurt?”

She blinks slowly.

“A lot.”

He cocks his head. “Think you need stitches?”

“No.”

He looks pleased.

“Good, me neither.”

“Could I have a drink?” she asks, voice small.

This seems to surprise him before he smirks a little.

“Depends – you gon’ stab yourself with it?”

She works up a glare and he chuckles a bit before heading into the pantry and returning with a tumbler of bourbon.

She thanks him then takes a long sip, feeling it warm her throat and, as if just by willpower, begin to numb her extremities a little.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” she nods.

He works neatly, removing the towel then disinfecting the wound and bandaging it.

He’s busy wrapping the gauze around her hand when she realises he isn’t wearing gloves. That he hadn’t hesitated for a second after seeing the blood.

“Can I ask something?”

She doesn’t know if it’s still the shock or if it’s the bourbon already working its way into her system, but her voice sounds far away.

He shoots a look up at her.

“Like you ain’t gonna anyway?”

They share a smile for a moment and then he goes back to it.

She clears her throat.

“Who were you going to quarantine with?”

She’s assumed it would be his family – his son and his ex – but she’s no longer so sure.

The doubt had taken root this morning and grown over the hours as she’d baked.

A second passes and she notices him bite at the inside of his cheek.

“Why you askin?”

“Because you seem like you’ve just been texting your son as usual, like it was never the plan to be there with them.”

He hesitates for a second longer then sniffs.

“His mom’s got this guy, they serious…”

“And he’s staying with them,” she fills in the rest.

“Uh-huh.”

“So you were going to quarantine alone?”

His shoulders jerk.

“Alone ain’t nothin new to me.”

There's something tight about his jaw that makes her remember.

_I know it’s lonely at the top._

“So you want some pain pills?” he asks, looking from them to her hand.

It takes her a second, overwhelmed, and then she shakes her head.

“No, we should keep them for—”

“ _In case we get sick_ ,” he completes mockingly.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes, and he smiles back at her, taunting.

“You shouldn’t be livin life only in ‘Just in case’s, Elizabeth.”

And god, that’s funny, isn’t it?

“...I think I already have.”

He’d gone over to the bin to discard of everything, and now he stops mid-step before forcing himself to get back to her.

But he doesn’t look at her as he responds.

“Well, we all got our regrets, don’t we?”

She doesn’t know what to say to that.

So, instead, she goes back to what they can pretend they’ve been talking about all along.

“I’m going to freeze some cinnamon buns, too. _Not_ just in case – but for Iris. I was thinking,” she shares, “it’d be really nice if she just found them in her freezer one day.”

“Assuming she don’t get back while we still here,” he points out, beginning to repack the first aid kit.

She narrows her eyes.

“What are you going to do to her if she does??”

He shrugs. “Depends if she’s happy to see us or not.”

She rolls her eyes at this circumventive response.

“You can’t kill her.”

“Hmm. Then you should hope real hard that she stays put wherever she is.”

God.

She lets out a breath.

“For one more week.”

And now, finally, his eyes flick up to hers. Stay on her.

“That’s right.” Then he looks down for a second. “That’s if you can make it one whole week without stabbing yourself some more.”

She gasps. “You distracted me!”

“Uh-huh,” he says in disbelief. “Think from now on I’ll just handle the dishes, yeah?”

“Whatever,” she mutters, but it’s light-hearted.

He takes a few seconds to finish up with the kit and the moment settles. There’s something there, something he’s avoiding.

He shifts the weight between his feet before turning to her, clearing his throat.

“Listen, if I get sick—”

“You won’t,” she cuts him off, voice steady.

“Anything can happen in the next week,” he shakes his head. “And I want you to make sure—”

“You _won’t_.”

Her tone is tough, inarguable, and it forces him to stay; reconsider.

His head cocks as he watches her.

“Why, ’cuz I’m your boss?”

_Why do you care?_

She swallows, not sure how to answer that.

But what he’d actually said had been different and, with a breath, she answers that.

“Because you won’t.”

He snorts.

“Sounds real scientific.”

“The mind is equally as important in fighting off illnesses,” she quips.

“Where’d you get that, WebMD?”

He grins as she rolls her eyes then tugs on her bandage a bit. It's just tight enough, probably as good as she would've done. 

“How’s that feel?”

“Good,” she nods.

“Cool.”

He seems about to move, but she speaks first.

“Hey.” She holds it back for a moment, having second thoughts, but then it makes its way out: “About Marcus… I’m sorry.”

He looks at her for a long moment before replying.

“Y’know, my dad always said never to trust white people when they sayin sorry for shit they didn’t do.” After a moment of thought: “And never to take blankets from em.”

“Well, I gave you your bedding, so.”

They laugh together for a long while until suddenly the oven timer is beeping loudly.

“I’ll get it,” he says immediately.

She nods and he turns away, but suddenly she’s stopping him, grabbing him back.

“Rio.”

His gaze goes from her uninjured hand wrapped around his arm then up to her eyes.

“Thank you.” Then, feeling it’s a little too sincere: “You’re actually surprisingly good at first aid.”

He rolls his eyes.

“I got a kid. Plus,” he shrugs, “I been in my fair share of rough scrapes.”

God. She supposes that makes sense.

“Well... how are you with frosting?”


	11. Day 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry there was no chapter yesterday! This one needed extra marination - I had a very specific idea of how I wanted this chapter to feel and every emotional beat developed, so I needed another day to hone that. I hope it comes through :)

It’s raining.

Pouring, really. Beth pulls more of the woollen throw blanket over her, waiting for Rio.

They have somewhat of a routine now. He finishes work then she has dinner with the kids on a call as he gets a fire going. Then they either pull up Netflix or just argue about what to watch until one of them gives up.

He comes over from the pantry, drink in hand, and pulls his phone from his back pocket before sitting.

Then he jerks his head in her direction.

“How’s the hand?”

“Fine. I changed the bandage this morning.”

Swallowing his sip, he pops a surprised brow.

“By yourself?”

She shrugs. “I’m used to doing things by myself.”

He’s frowning, looking about to ask something, when suddenly his phone starts ringing.

It’s on couch between them and both their glances fall on it as the screen lights up with a name: Priya.

There’s a look on his face – some sort of unease in his eyes when he looks up at her sharply – before he reaches for the phone and answers.

“Heyyy.”

It’s deep and soft around the edges, not the casual _Yo_ he drops with his colleagues that she’s heard so many times over the past week.

“I’m good,” he nods. “You?”

There’s a pause as the woman on the other end says something. Beth can’t stop staring.

“Uh…” He shoots her a quick glance. “Naw, I ain’t in town.”

She looks away now, biting at her cheek as she feels him shift on the couch, standing.

“Long story,” he replies, setting his drink down. “Naw, I can’t. And you know we in quarantine, right?”

He laughs throatily at whatever she says in response and Beth feels hot pinpricks rise on the back of her neck.

What had she said in response to that – what had she offered him to tempt him to come over that had elicited that laugh?

God, her throat feels so dry.

She looks at Rio’s drink. He’s left the room now, gone to the study, and she could go get some bourbon of her own. Except she’d promised herself she wouldn’t drink today.

The problem is that the only viable alternative – the only other thing that doesn’t want to make her crawl out of her own skin – is going to eavesdrop on the conversation. She doesn’t want to know what they’re discussing as much as she’s desperate to hear every word.

She curls her left hand’s fingers into her leg, trying hard to stop herself from doing either. Trying hard to figure out why it feels like she’s breaking out into hives – her throat, neck and chest are burning, wanting to explode.

She’d be genuinely concerned, but she can hear the thoughts going through her own mind, and they’re all just possible things Priya might have said.

_We could quarantine together._

So she knows it’s not physiological so much as mental, and she’s trying very hard to gain control of herself when Rio comes back, off the call.

“Sorry, had to take that,” he just barely mutters, not meeting her eyes.

“Did you?”

He pauses a few steps away and she hadn’t meant for it to sound so defensive but, really, she hadn’t meant for it to come off her tongue at all.

“That’s what I said, yeah.”

Now he’s looking at her and there’s that same _something_ behind his eyes – and is it unease or just guardedness? Reinforcing the wall between her and the parts of his life she is not allowed to be privy to?

“Who is she? An ex?”

He’s gone very still.

“Sum’n like that.”

“The girl from the parking lot?”

He blinks.

“What?”

“Never mind,” she scoffs. “Like it even matters.”

She throws off the blanket as she stands, muttering in disgust.

“God, you’re all the same.”

“And who’s that?” he barks.

“Men. You use us and then you move on to the next Amber or Priya or whoever, whoever isn't—"

Me.

_It was just a warm body. Anyone but me._

She cuts herself off, heading to the bedroom so she won't say anything else that she shouldn't say; so she can spiral alone.

But he moves into her way, body and features tight with wrath.

“I’m sorry, do I owe you somethin??”

Her blood boils.

“No,” she laughs out, manic. “No, I'm just the person who's been cooking for you and doing your laundry – and when all this over, is going to go to prison for killing someone for you!”

“Oh, you mean the guy who ain't dead?”

She flushes at the mock-confusion on his face. As if it hadn’t been humiliating enough to let him know about that.

It takes her anger down a notch, sending her a step back.

Still.

“If I _had_ actually killed him, things would be way worse now.”

He laughs derisively. “Glad you managed to make it all good in the hood for yourself.”

Staring at him, she folds her arms.

“Well, apparently I’m all I have.”

“What did ya want me to do, huh?” he suddenly explodes. “Hire you a lawyer? I figured you'd have the brains to take care o' that yourself.”

“Something!” she shouts back. “Anything – but laughing in my face.”

“You didn't have such a problem with it when it was _me_ you were putting in the back of a cop car, didja?”

She blinks back. That seems so long ago, now. Before… everything. Could she do the same now?

Still, it’s… it’s not the same.

“This was murder.”

“See, that's the difference between us. You think goin to prison's the end of your whole perfect lil life,” he gestures in a circle around her. “You know what I call that? _Wednesday_. That's when I go up to visit my cousin. And _naw_ , he didn't do the shit they put him in there for neither.”

“So I’m just supposed to accept it?” she scoffs. “Be your little lamb to the slaughter?”

“That’s what you chose, honey.”

“What does that mean?”

“You said you wanted out, right?”

She doesn’t respond immediately, letting the moment settle. Feeling a dozen different things inside herself that all hurt in disparate ways, pulling her in a dozen different directions.

And when she speaks, her tone is a little quieter; resentment buried deep into each word.

“So that’s it? That’s what I’m worth to you? One chance?”

He lets out a breath of contempt as he takes a small step closer, gesturing.

“Lemme teach you sum'n ’bout the world, yeah? When you quit, that means nobody owes you nothin no more. And that goes for everythin from McDonald's to the Fortune 500.”

She stares back; doesn’t say anything – doesn’t know what to say – and he continues.

“I got guys on the inside and I take care of em, but they still sittin. And you know why I make sure they good?” he asks, frowning. “’Cuz they loyal to me. But you wanna be out then just flip back in when you need me?”

He’d pointed first at her and now at himself and it makes her realise she has no idea who he is outside of them. She’s never thought about the rest of his organisation before. How the rules work for them.

But there is one thing she knows.

“ _You_ wanted me to kill him.”

It’s on him, too.

“Yeah, and?” He rolls his shoulders. “People die for this; give their lives for this – for me.”

God.

She looks at him in his t-shirt and sweatpants – so, so normal. But then there is the tattoo on his neck, huge and fierce. A reminder that he is not normal, not by far. Not however much she finds herself forgetting it.

Not however many dishes he does or showers he fixes or cinnamon rolls he frosts.

He’s a _gang leader_. People really do die for him. Kill for him.

“I never asked to be a part of that,” she says quietly.

The rain nearly drowns it out but she can tell he hears from the way his face changes, softening slightly for the first time.

“And I kept you from it. But once you said you were done, so was my protection.”

“What did you want me to do?” she asks, voice desperate and breaking. “I have children; a family.”

“And they don't?” he points out.

Points at the world out there; at the people in it serving out sentences for him.

But the world doesn’t feel real anymore, and even if it did, what does it have to do with her heart breaking in her chest?

Biting into her lip, she stares at him.

“Did you ever actually care about me?”

Before, she never would’ve asked. But now she feels if she doesn’t, she’ll die not knowing.

She already knows he’s going to hate her after this; that isolation in the week to come will be of a very different kind. It wouldn't surprise her if he never speaks to her again after this. So she has to _know_.

But he scoffs, and it’s mean; bitter.

“That's rich, comin from you.”

Tears are stinging at the back of her eyes and she nods slowly.

“Counterfeit Beth,” she murmurs, nearly laughing; nearly crying.

Ruby had been right all along.

_That’s what I am? Work?_

_Pretty much, yeah._

“The fuck does that mean?”

She’s so tired, now. She doesn’t even want to respond. But she knows he’s not going to let her pass him till he’s done with her.

So she finds a way to force an animated shrug.

“That all along I was just a cog in your machine; one of a dozen.”

His face twists.

“Tell me somethin: you actually believe the shit you say? ’Cuz last time I checked, cogs don’t get to just decide when they wanna walk out; say it’s over like it ain't no fucking thing.”

There's an anguish in every furious word and it takes her breath away as she realises – that had meant something to him. Wounded him.

God. She didn’t think she was capable of hurting him.

She didn’t think he could hurt.

“I did that for my family,” she shakes her head, swallowing.

He laughs a little.

“You mean for _you_.”

She blinks back, unsure how to refute that. Because it _had_ been for herself. She’d needed her children back, and on paper he should’ve been such an easy sacrifice to make.

As if anything about them is that easy; is on paper.

_That’s what I am? Work?_

_Pretty much, yeah._

Maybe he’s not the only one who had acted like all they’d shared was checks and balances.

“You still don’t get it, do you?” he scoffs, but his tone is quieter now. “This hobby of yours? It's my _life_.”

She thinks she _does_ get it, now.

But.

“I don’t know how to do that! I had a life before you!”

His jaw goes hard again.

“Not quitting’s a good place to start.”

“My husband took my children!”

He takes another step closer and now they’re close, close enough for her to see the rise and fall of his chest; feel the rush of his harrowed breaths.

“So then you be a boss bitch and you go get em. You don’t fuck with your meal ticket.”

It hits her in the middle of her chest and she looks up to meet his eyes.

“What is that, professional advice?”

Her voice is cold, colder than she’d thought she was capable of, and she’s proud of how even it sounds. Like she’s not cracking and coming apart on the inside.

_Welcome back, boss._

And when he speaks, his isn’t cold at all.

It’s tired, worn around the edges. Cracking and coming apart.

“What do you want from me, Elizabeth?”

To forget everything that had come before. To let them go back to a time when everything hadn’t been broken. To tell her how to rewind so she could make a different choice, knowing she has the ability to hurt him.

But as powerful as he is, he can’t turn back time. Nor would he.

_Thing about life is, nothin ever goes back. You can take what you learned or you can do the same stupid shit again, but the only way is forward, there ain’t no choice in that._

All they have is here; now. The five days ahead of them.

And she just — she just…

“I don't want you to hate me.”

He stares back at her, eyes unreadable, and the moment draws so long that she has to stop holding her breath.

There is only them, only the silent hold of their tired eyes and the drum of the downpour outside.

For moments, seconds; hours, it feels.

And then he looks away with a breath of disbelief, shaking his head.

Biting into her lip to stall the tears pricking, she clears her throat and moves past him.

He lets her, lets her go.

And as she closes the bedroom door behind her, her own personal clouds roll in and break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...How we feelin?


	12. (contd)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you guys so sooooo much for your incredible support! It means so much to me to hear your feedback every day! I hope you and your families are all still doing really well and keeping sane ;) xx

A minute passes. Two.

Then there are two solid knocks on the door, and she’s rushing to wipe the tears off her face when he enters.

He gives her one glance, sees her state, then looks away with a throat clear.

She cleans herself up properly and by the time Rio looks back, he has a bit of his cheek between his teeth.

“You ain't doin no time.”

She blinks; swallows.

“W-what?”

He lets out an annoyed breath as he comes to sit beside her on the bed.

“Thought you'd figure it out, but looks like you been too busy convincin yourself I don't give a shit about you.”

Wait, _what_?

“Figured what out?”

He turns to look at her, brow raised very sardonically.

“Why would I come all the way out here to set a dealership back up for someone who's going into custody, huh?”

Oh.

Oh, god.

“What did you do?”

“I got people watchin the grocery store manager's place, the addy you sent me. Once this virus shit’s blown over, his doorstep’s gonna be crawlin with cops.” He shrugs a shoulder. “You can't get arrested for killin a guy who's alive.”

She stares at him, not sure what to say.

“And if that Fed keeps botherin you after that, I'll take care of him myself.”

She… she’s not going to prison.

A weight seems to lift off her shoulders, one she hadn’t even known she’d been carrying around so heavily.

And the thought that that had been his plan all along, it takes her breath away.

But.

“Why?”

After everything he’d just said, why do that for her? 

_Lemme teach you sum'n ’bout the world, yeah? When you quit, that means nobody owes you nothin no more._

Why call in whatever favours he had to stop her from going to prison?

There’s silence for a minute and she waits. He’s picking at a thread on his sweatpants, she can feel his shoulder jerking against hers.

Then it stills.

“I don't hate you, Elizabeth.” He scoffs. “Every fuckin day I try just to get you outta my damn head and I can't even do that.”

And she remembers, instantly.

The way he’d defended her from that jerk at the store. The way he hadn’t hesitated; had bandaged up her wound. His fingers curled around hers in the dark. The Dubby.

_Tell me somethin: you actually believe the shit you say?_

And maybe… maybe she never really had. Maybe it had just been so much easier to believe than the opposite.

Maybe it was something she’d told herself, like a bedtime story at night, to help her sleep.

_Did you ever actually care about me?_

He _had_ ; all along, he had. There had just been _so much else_ , too, and now there is nothing. No children, no Dean, no business, no reason to lie. Just the two of them and all the truth she can no longer avoid.

“You aren’t a meal ticket to me.”

It comes out soft, just winning over the pattering of the rain.

After a second, she looks up from her lap to find his gaze with her own. There’s a glimmer to the depths of his eyes – the moonlight in the half-dark room, but something more, too.

Rio swallows before speaking lowly.

“And you ain’t just one of a dozen.”

“What about Priya, and…” she gulps, “…whoever else you see?”

He draws a little breath then reaches up, brushing the hair out of her face softly, the one finger barely touching her.

And when he’s done, he watches her for a second, head cocked just a little as his eyes traverse her lips, her cheek, her eyes.

“They ain’t the ones in my head, are they?”

Her heart feels like it could beat right out of her chest.

It launches her forward, but his palm lands against her breastbone.

“Ain’t a good idea,” he shakes his head, frown deep. “I could still get sick.”

Her ears are pounding now, too, and she flicks her gaze from his mouth to his eyes.

“I don’t care.”

There’s shock in his eyes and he hesitates but then, slowly, he retracts his hand.

Rio watches her, waiting, just like that day.

Gaze roaming all over her features like he doesn’t quite believe she’ll do it.

As if she could stop herself. She darts forward, sending him back a little, and kisses him hard.

They both moan instantly – god, it’s been too long. His hand comes up to her neck but it’s soft; tentative. And no, she needs the opposite. She needs him to see that she’s sure.

So before he’s even really started kissing her back, she pulls away to speak into his ear.

“Please, Rio.”

It works, just like before.

A sound comes from the back of his throat and then he’s pulling her onto him, tugging her back to his lips, and she whimpers as she presses her body against his, already trying to find friction.

His kiss is searing, driving her back, and she opens her mouth to his tongue, hands reaching for the edge of his t-shirt.

She’s grinding her hips down onto his lap, feeling him hardening, and with a grunt, he presses her away a little.

“Slower, ma.”

His voice is breathy, broken.

She shakes her head. “I _can’t_.”

Hers cracks in the middle, high-pitched.

He looks at her for a moment, eyes black, then all of a sudden his hand is sliding past her pajama pants.

Her eyes slip closed as he finds the heat between her legs then presses her panties aside.

“…My god,” she breathes.

His fingers are so big inside her and she moans, pressing forward to find his lips.

He kisses her as his other hand tugs down her top and bra then dips in. He palms her breast softly, belying the sharp pulse he’s found between her legs.

“That feel good?” he breaks away to ask.

God, yes. But it’s not enough; with him it never is.

“I need more.”

Instantly he stops and she whimpers, eyes flying open, as he removes his hand from her. He disentangles completely before lifting her off his lap.

Then, standing in front of her, he jerks his head.

“Strip for me.”

It sends heat between her legs a second before she draws her top off then pushes down the pajamas pants, her panties along with it.

His jaw sets as he watches, Adam’s apple bobbing, and then her breasts fall heavy as she tosses her bra aside.

His tongue is wetting his lips and, god, she can _see_ how much he wants her. Her eyes stay on the huge bulge in his pants as she moves back on the bed, settling on her back. In a second, he’s on top of her, kissing at her neck as his fingers find her core again.

They play with her clit a little, deliberately teasing, and she can feel his smile against her pulse when her head starts thrashing.

“Want me to stop, mami?” he teases, kisses lowering over her chest.

“No, no,” she moans.

His lips curve up over her nipple and then he sucks it into his mouth as his fingers trail down to crook up into her. It sends her hips jolting and he makes a sound of disapproval around her breast.

Deciding she’s had enough, Beth brings both hands to his back and rakes her fingernails down it, making him growl as he looks up.

“No more slow,” she demands.

He looks equally mad and turned on and then suddenly they’re both shoving at his pants and underwear. He glances at the bedside table, but she shakes her head – there aren’t any in there and, thank god, she has her birth control here.

Then suddenly he’s inside her and a breath leaves her lungs as her eyes close.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he groans into her ear.

She can't think, clenching around him; trying to adjust.

His breath falls around her collarbones and then he noses her closer; kisses her. It almost distracts her from how huge he is inside her, how she’s filled all the way up with him and it’s perfect, perfect.

Then she lifts her hips and he hums, ready too.

He half-slides out then in again smoothly and she lets a _yes_ drop from her lips.

Her legs are wrapped around his waist and his fingers sink into her thighs as her body rises to meet his.

The tension builds exponentially inside her, his hips going faster, and she’s biting into her lip so hard, she’s scared it’ll burst. He stops her with his own lips, kissing her with so much force, she whimpers.

He presses her arm up over her head and it’s somehow both rough and tender – like he remembers her wound – when he curls his fingers through hers.

She screams out when he hits somewhere deep inside her and it makes him rotate his hips the same way again, dotting stars over her vision.

He kisses his way to her ear.

“You ready, momma?”

She sobs out a whine as he grinds his hipbone against hers, so goddamn deep inside her.

He kisses over her cheek then nose, lips parting so his breath falls onto her lips.

“What do you want from me, Elizabeth?”

Her eyes come up to meet his, their bodies only lightly pulsing now.

_I don't want you to hate me._

She swallows.

“Make me come, Rio.”

His face seems to erupt with a grin and then he’s thrusting into her roughly, rhythmically, squeezing at her hand as the fingers on her left sink into his bicep, trying to offset the building pressure.

She’s seizing up, muscles tightening everywhere even as he goes faster and harder, and she’s moaning so goddamn loud she can’t even hear herself think. She grips onto his hand even tighter and pain shoots into her palm, but it’s nothing worse than what he’s doing to her, and then—

Oh, god. It hits her at a hundred miles an hour and she cries out, filling the room with her screams, feeling like she’s being torn apart from the inside out.

Her entire body shakes around him and he buries his face in her neck, harshly kissing her through it the same way he had in the bathroom.

His hips are still working up against hers but she can barely feel any of it, mind ripped from her body and floating somewhere above; somewhere heavenly.

She’s just beginning to come back to her body when she feels him jerk up roughly inside her. She reaches down to palm one of his balls and he groans out a _Fuck_ , body going rigid before she feels him explode inside her. 

Afterwards they're quiet for a while, Beth revelling in everything about this moment. Hearing his heavy breaths; feeling him warm inside her. It’s serene, the rain having slowed to a drizzle outside.

Their eyes seem to open at the same time and they meet for only a second before he shifts, pulling out then rolling off her.

She brings her hand over her face, pushing her hair out of the way, then realises there’s blood on the bandage. Of course there is.

Clearing her throat, Beth looks over for anything to wear and the first thing her gaze lands on is – god. Iris’ nightgown.

But she needs to pee, so she takes it, pulls it on then heads to the bathroom.

She’s cleaned up and re-bandaged by the time she re-enters the bedroom. Rio’s dressed and sitting on the bed; waiting for her, it seems.

His eyes take her in in the gown, no doubt remembering that day, before he jerks his head with a smirk.

“Night.”

She takes her lip into her mouth uncertainly.

“Night.”

His smile is genuine as he stands, showering her in it and his warm gaze for a few moments longer before he heads out.

And when he’s gone, the door shutting quietly behind him, she has one thought.

That was a huge mistake.


	13. Day 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all made it to a new day, these disasters included! ;)

Beth’s breaths curl out in front of her, swirling then disappearing into the misty forest.

She’s been sitting out on the deck for what feels like an hour, maybe more.

She’d tossed and turned for what felt like forever last night until the rain had eventually lulled her to sleep. But she still doesn’t have any answers.

How could she have taken such a huge risk?

What if he’s infected? What if she is, now?

God, she has _children_. How could she have been so stupid; so selfish?

And for what?

She may not be going to prison anymore, but what does her life look like post-quarantine? Sharing an apartment with Dean and swapping in and out of the house? Seeing her children every other day?

How does Rio fit into all of that?

And does he even want to? Or is she just some variation of Priya; someone with an expiration date that he needs to get out of his head? 

And what if he does want to?

God, she doesn’t know. Her life is so messed up and it’s all messed up in her mind, tangled with her feelings for him.

And last night it had become too much – the emotion, the _want_ – and she’d foolishly given into it. But what now?

This is where she comes to a dead stop every time.

What now?

It had felt euphoric to have him look at her like that again. And his touch – just thinking about it makes her toes want to curl again, to say nothing of his mouth on hers or him inside her; the weight of his body or his voice in her ear.

The door opens, making her jump, and there’s relief in Rio’s eyes.

“Hey. Was lookin everywhere for you.”

“Sorry,” she shakes her head. Clears her throat. “It's just so nice and fresh out here.”

She'd needed it to think.

He looks out at the swirling mist then scoffs.

“Yeah, real damn fresh.”

She’s numb to it by now.

But he twists around to head back inside and returns a moment later with the woollen blanket from the couch. She smiles as he covers her in it then sits beside her.

She bites on the inside of her cheek then glances at him.

“Are you feeling ok?”

“Yea.”

She lets out a little breath.

But there are still four days left on the clock and he’d said it himself: anything can happen.

Beth brings her feet up onto the bench, pressing her knees almost to her chest.

With him here, her worries aren’t quite as loud anymore and she’s forced to actually take in the view. The thick condensation settling on the dark green trees. The sparkling wet on the wood of the deck. Everything in sharp or muted versions of green, white and brown.

It's cold and quiet; not a tweet or a croak. 

“Can you see yourself ever living like this?” she wonders.

“Sure. Livin like old white folk is the dream, ain't it?”

But he looks at her with a teasing smirk and she rolls her eyes, a smile on her lips in spite of herself.

Then the smirk turns into a small smile and he leans closer, eyes on her lips.

She jerks away.

There's surprise in his expression; confusion.

“There a problem?”

“You… were right.” She clears her throat. “Last night. It was a stupid risk.”

Rio doesn’t say anything for a long while, moving back as he eyes her.

Then he runs his tongue over his teeth, jaw hard.

“Lil late for that now, ain’t it?”

She swallows.

“Maybe. But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He stares at her for a long moment that seems even colder than all the frigid air around them.

“Tell you what: you lemme know when you figure out what the fuck it is you want, yeah? I’ll see if I’m still interested."

He’s up and on his feet before she can even form a response; halfway to the door by the time she does.

“You’re really going to be mad that I'm looking after my health during a _pandemic_?”

He turns to meet her gaze.

“’Cuz that’s whatchu doin?”

It riles her up as she remembers how he’d said that she’d quit for herself, not her family.

“You still think you know me and you don’t.”

“Naw,” he scoffs. “You know what I know? That you use people when you want em then toss em aside when you done and act like you on some higher moral ground. Newsflash, darlin—"

She watches as he rips open the door.

“No one made you fuck the banger – you wanted to. And, way I remember, you was beggin for it, too.” He jerks his shoulders. “I know that don’t line up wit’ your perfect lil life, but you square that up wit’ yourself on your own damn time. I’m done being your walk on the wild side.”

The slam of the door rings down her spine.

* * *

Beth’s hands float uselessly over the ingredients in front of her.

His face keeps running through her mind.

His words.

_No one made you fuck the banger – you wanted to._

_You use people when you want em then toss em aside when you done._

Had she used him? She hadn’t meant to.

_And I have your cut._

_Even better._

_I don’t have it here._

But… she _had_ known that if she’d told him then that she was quitting, he would’ve left.

And even if he hadn’t, she hadn’t wanted their last time to be like that. To be overshadowed by Dean and his blackmail.

Even for her, it hadn’t been. Even knowing what she would have to do. She’d been just drunk enough, and when Rio looks at her like that… God, it’s so hard to remember anything else in the world.

Had she used him?

She goes over and over it in her head.

And afterwards, the way she’d made him leave…

She presses her eyes closed, remembering the feeling of dread in her stomach.

_My kids will be home soon._

Seeing him sitting there in her bed – in _her bed_ – smiling; knowing she had to end it all. She’d felt a little nauseous and all she’d known was that she couldn’t look at him; couldn’t sustain eye contact.

 _Think of your children_ , she’d told herself.

And one more thing, too. Her bedtime story; her salve: _He doesn’t even care about you_.

_Did you ever actually care about me?_

_That's rich, comin from you._

Beth looks at everything she’d laid out, half the pantry.

She’d wanted to make him something nice, something he’d like. Something to apologise.

It was only after she’d laid everything out that she’d realised she doesn’t actually know what his favourite dishes are. What he'll find comforting. 

She’s inspecting one of the five cheeses she’d brought out, trying to remember their conversation about different foods and veg, when suddenly she throws it down with a sigh.

She’ll just _ask_ him. It’s been hours – he should be less upset by now.

It’s what she’d been banking on. That he’d be amenable enough to come to dinner, even more so when he saw everything she’d made him. And then they could talk, and it would be fine.

She knocks a few times on the study door and there’s no response.

Thinking of the way he’d just come into the bedroom last night, she opens the door.

He’s at the computer and he doesn’t turn to acknowledge her, which makes her stop awkwardly in the doorway.

“Hi.”

It seems to launch then dissolve into nothingness, and she brings her hands to rub over her arms.

“How are you feeling?” she attempts.

“You gonna ask me that every time you see me now?” his voice comes, gruff. Before she can even open her mouth: “How ’bout this: if I got some kinda update I wanna give you, you’ll get it.”

So much for him being less upset.

Well. Her plan can still work.

“Is there anything specific you want for dinner?”

No answer.

“I was thinking chicken parm.”

“I don’t want your damn food.”

Her heart sinks.

He really isn’t going to make this easy on her.

She kicks at the ground for a minute, trying to sort through her thoughts.

“Thank you for sorting out my murder charge.”

A sigh rents the air and then he spins in his chair.

“What do you want, Elizabeth?”

“You said to come find you when I knew what I wanted.”

He shrugs a shoulder. “I ain’t in the mood.”

And now she’s had it. Setting her shoulders, she stares back.

“Well, I don’t care.”

For a second he looks almost… impressed. Then he sits back in the chair, folding his hands as if ready to listen.

Which she supposes means that she has to be ready to speak.

“What you said this morning was awful.” She shakes her head, sighing. “But I probably deserved it.”

“Probably?”

There’s a bit of teasing in his tone and she has to bite back a smile.

“I’m trying to apologise here.”

He rolls his shoulders.

“It’s takin a while.”

“I’m sorry,” she shoots back.

He watches her, gaze level.

“What for?”

“I don’t understand.”

“’Scuse me?”

“I met my husband in high school," she explains. "I never dated anyone else before we got married and it meant I never had to learn how to do… well, romance. I don’t know how any of this is supposed to work. And so I tend to overthink things, especially because…”

She drifts off as he stands, coming toward her.

It’s like that night all over again.

_What are you doing?_

_Oh, you thought you could skip this part, huh?_

And she had. She thought she could lay out a meal and it would start to fix things; that she wouldn’t have to say any of this aloud.

But this time she’ll get her hands dirty.

“Who you are, it’s…” She shakes her head, letting out a breath. “You said it yourself. You have people willing to kill and die for you. It’s a lot and I'm… I’m just a suburban mother,” she shrugs with a scoff.

He comes to join her in the doorway and she takes a reflexive step back.

“…So I _don’t understand_ what someone like you is doing with someone like me," she admits. "Why you care about me. Care if I walk away.”

His expression is impassive, jaw working; the rest of his body very still.

“Me neither.”

It’s like there’s nothing else in the world but their eyes; the limited breath in her lungs.

“If I could go back and do it differently, I would.”

“To this morning?”

“To that day.”

It seems to take his breath away.

Rio blinks hard; swallows.

But then he shakes his head.

“That ain’t how life works.”

_Thing about life is, nothin ever goes back. You can take what you learned or you can do the same stupid shit again, but the only way is forward, there ain’t no choice in that._

Yes. She knows.

Beth shrugs a shoulder.

“So then I guess you have to give me another chance.”

He’s looking at her; analysing her; weighing her up.

And she doesn’t know if she’s worth it, either; if _this_ is.

Still doesn’t know _what now_ , not really. But she knows she’s miserable without him. Today has taught her that.

She knows she hates him thinking the worst of her. She knows it hurts thinking of him hurting.

She knows she’d been right the first time: she doesn’t care if he is infected.

“How ’bout burgers?”

Her eyes jump back up his. There’s the lightest smile on his lips and she feels so free; floating.

He’s the only one who can make her feel like this, since the beginning.

“You’re gonna make them?”

“Said I would, didn’t I?” he asks, stepping closer.

Her back hits the doorframe.

“You also said they were good, and I’m doubtful,” she teases.

“You think you cute, huh?”

Before she can answer, he’s kissing her, hands on her body. She pulls him closer and he comes easily, pressing against her.

But she pulls away.

“I was going to cook for you.”

He pops a brow. “What, like an apology dinner?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“And you were gonna go with _chicken parm_?”

She hits him in the chest and they both laugh till they’re kissing again. And this time it’s deeper, warmer, breathier.

The heat spreads over her chest and down lower till she can think about nothing but his mouth and his body pressing against hers.

Her fingers rake over his beard then she kisses her way to his ear.

"Dinner can probably wait...”

He hums.

“Yea.”

They part, eyes meeting for a sizzling second, and then she slips her hand into his and leads him to the bedroom.


	14. 11 - 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra long chapter to make up for there being none yesterday :) Can't wait to hear what you guys think!

* * *

* * *

**Day 11**

* * *

* * *

Rio boxes.

She finds this out when she’s going to do laundry, catching sight of him on the back porch. If it's part of his daily routine, she’s never discovered it before now.

She comes to a standstill. Watching. He’s wearing sweatpants, earphones and, well… nothing else. His body glimmers with exertion as he bobs and weaves, fists striking out. She watches his tattoos widen and contract; his pants shimmying on his hips as he bounces back and forth.

Beth swallows heavily. Then she has an idea.

She’s back a minute later, swinging open the backdoor and leaning against the frame to watch him some more.

He’s got his earphones in but, based on all the pivoting, he should spot her soon.

He should’ve gotten a size smaller in the pants – or maybe not, really, because the way they reveal the V of his hips isn't exactly on the list of things she minds.

Then he turns a little, and his jaw drops open in surprise when he sees her.

Quickly he removes the earphones and she smiles lightly.

“I’m doing laundry.”

That’s all she says before shutting the door behind her.

Because she’s wearing the gown again, but this time she hadn’t even attempted to get all of her cleavage inside it or pull it down to cover anything.

He's through the door in an instant and she watches him from in front of the washer, eyes tempting.

In a flash he’s on her, kissing her, mouth hungry. Hers is too, hands feeling over his body as she moans. He undoes the rope on the gown then roughly palms her breast, her whine ringing around the room as his thumb works over her pebbled nipple.

He reaches for her legs, about to lift her, but she shakes her head then presses him away a little.

Twisting, she presses Start on the washer then leans forward onto it, gripping tight.

She hears the _Fuck_ drop from his lips and then he’s flipping the gown over, grabbing her ass for a second before she hears his pants hit the floor.

He presses against her but doesn’t enter her, not yet.

“This some kinda fantasy, mami?”

She does _not_ want to have to answer that so, wriggling against him, she makes her voice as breathy as possible.

“Fuck me.”

He growls and then he’s pressing a bruise into her hip with one hand as the other guides himself into her and her knuckles turn white against the washer, trying to distract herself with the sound of the gushing water inside.

His breaths are so loud in her ears too, though, and she falls away into it. He kisses and nips at her neck, rocking up just a little, teasing. And _oh_ , it’s so good.

She brings her hand up into his neck to pull him closer; make him give her _more_. He sucks a hickey into her neck and Beth moans, shifting her hips a little. She’s throbbing around him.

Then the water stops, the rhythmic hum beginning, and Rio arcs up into her.

“Oh god,” she moans.

He’s going too fast too quickly and her nails sink into his neck as her hips bounce with his.

Then he’s gripping her chin, forcing her to meet the hot slant of his lips.

She whines breathily into it, their tongues sloppy and teeth everywhere, before suddenly he’s making her loosen her hold on him. His hand goes to her back, applying pressure, and her jaw drops with a breath as she realises what he’s trying to do.

“Oh my god.”

“Naw, momma, that ain’t my name.”

His hips slow a little as she presses her cheek to the cool washer, hands going to grip the sides of it. It’s vibrating furiously under her now and, god – not even in her imagination had it gone like this.

“ _Rio_ ,” she breathes out, broken.

He hums his approval a second before he starts again, rough and fast, meeting the time of the spinning beneath her. She feels dizzy with all the sensations, trying desperately to meet his hips but, god, it’s so much just to hang on.

Her nipples are overstimulated by the harsh vibrations beneath her, Rio’s moaning about how goddamn wet she is and all she can think about is how she can’t come yet; _not yet_. It’s too good, she has to hold on just a little longer.

But it’s seconds later when her mouth drops open with a strangled sound from her throat and she bangs her palm against the washer, trying to temper it.

Rio takes it as his cue to go harder, slamming into her. And just like that, she’s coming all the way apart, body jerking, and he moans loudly as she clenches around him. Then he’s coming too, body going rigid behind her, but Beth barely registers, riding the bliss still ripping through her body.

It’s minutes later when they finally recover, Rio slipping out then helping her up. Which is good because she’s not sure she can stand. Her body feels wrecked, legs jello. God, she doesn’t think she’s ever come that hard in her life.

But he’s taking her in like _she’s_ some sort of deity, gaze sticking on her breasts.

Clearing her throat, she does the belt back up on the gown and Rio shakes his head.

“You’re somethin else, you know that?”

She blinks back in disbelief.

“If you let me go, I think my legs will give out.”

He lets out an amused little breath then leans down, nosing her lips to his.

Roping her arms around his neck, she gets up onto her toes and kisses him hard. Both his hands go to her ass, holding her up, and they’re both whimpering again, his fingers slipping beneath the gown, when the washer starts beeping loudly behind her.

They part slowly and, before removing his hands, he looks at her.

“You good?”

She nods with a smile.

“Yeah.”

And she’s right – her legs manage to carry her, albeit weakly, as she twists around to get at the washing.

“Y'know, I can do that,” he offers. “If you wanna go—"

“Yeah,” she nods gratefully, turning back to him.

But before she can head to the bathroom, she remembers something else.

“I’ll do a load of bedding next, if you want to get yours.”

“Sure,” he shrugs. Then: “What?”

She’d been looking at him strangely and now she huffs a little.

“It’s just that… you know you don’t have to keep sleeping in the study, right?”

She’s been struggling to figure out why he keeps doing so, landing on the idea that he must think that’s what she wants.

His shoulders jerk.

“Used to sleepin alone.”

Her brow rises in pointed disbelief and he cracks a smile.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” she shakes her head teasingly. “Maybe I should call up Priya and confirm that.”

He chuckles then pulls her closer.

“Call up whoever you want, mami. Sex and sleeping are two different things, right?”

She blinks.

“Right.”

He kisses her fully on the lips then draws back.

“Imma get that bedding.”

She nods. Then, watching him go, she remembers.

_Alone ain’t nothin new to me._

* * *

* * *

**Day 12**

* * *

* * *

It’s still dark when she wakes.

She reaches for him before recalling him kissing her then leaving the room, just like he always does.

And Beth doesn’t know why, but she feels lonely. Wants him here.

Maybe it’s too early, too dark. Maybe the bed is too icy beside her; too big. Maybe she can remember too well how warm it is in his arms.

She hesitates for a long moment before throwing off the blanket. She pulls on a pair of panties and a t-shirt then tiptoes into the hallway, swallowing.

It feels so weird, so dumb. But she still can’t stop herself, pressing open the study door.

Biting her lip, she closes it behind her as softly as possible.

Then, doing her best not to make a sound, she creeps closer to the couch. He’s asleep on his side – perfect.

She lifts the blanket then, checking to make sure he’s still asleep, slowly climbs in beside him.

God, it’s so much warmer than her bed had been, instantly comforting.

In her effort not to wake him, though, she’d opted for not touching him, which has a bit of her body hanging off the couch.

So she wriggles back a bit until she can feel his chest and she’s settled comfortably.

“Yeah, this is more like a one-person couch.”

It scares the shit out of her, body jolting.

“You’re awake??”

“Don’t sleep too good when someone’s tryna invade my space.”

But despite his complaining, he’s moving over to make space for her.

Then his hands survey her under the blankets, passing over the t-shirt with a hum before finding the bare skin at her hips. His touch stutters before moving lower then in between, appraising her thighs with an appreciative little breath.

It’s strange, the ways he can make her know he loves her body without saying it. With Dean it had been the opposite – he’d tell her she was beautiful just the way she was and she'd somehow only felt more insecure. It had only gotten worse when she’d seen the women he’d cheated on her with.

Rio fingers the line of her panties before his hand moves around to settle on her ass. A smile blooms on her lips.

“Can I stay now?”

“You know you got a big ol’ bed, right?”

“…But I had a bad dream.”

“Oh, yeah?” he questions, snuggling into the nape of her neck. “What was it about?”

“Uh. Well, there was a masked figure... chasing me through... the woods—"

“I really hope you a better liar when you talk to the cops.”

She giggles and he wraps his arm around her, bringing her even closer, and she realises they’re _spooning_. She can hear his breaths; feel his heartbeat. And, god, she can feel his morning wood.

He presses his lips against her neck to murmur sleepily.

“We gon' fuck in the shower when we wake up.”

Smiling, she closes her eyes.

“Ok.”

* * *

The movie ends and she’s barely stopped it before Rio’s kissing her, pressing her down with the weight of his body.

She laughs as she settles on her back on the couch, the crackling fire contending with the sound of their lips.

He tastes like scotch and her hands traverse the lines of his chest. But he doesn’t take it further, just kissing her with a firm hand in her neck.

She lets herself enjoy it, this moment she never would’ve once thought possible. Just kissing him on the couch in a serene world that has long since forgotten about them.

But then he pulls away, looking down at her with some sort of considered confusion in his eyes.

“...Who's Amber?”

“What?”

“Amber. You mentioned her the other day.”

_God, you’re all the same. You use us and then you move on to the next Amber or Priya or whoever._

“Oh.” She clears her throat, uncomfortable. “She's... she was Dean's secretary. The one he slept with.”

She tries to read his eyes, but he turns away so she can only catch the way his jaw works as he absorbs this.

After a protracted moment, he speaks.

“So I'm takin care of the grocery store manager. That means you owe me.”

She shifts a little, watching him sceptically.

“What do you want?”

His mouth twists.

“Don't _ever_ compare me to that dumbass husband of yours again.”

And though he seems angry, she can’t help the smile that her lips turn into.

“I can do that.”

“Good.”

“You’re sure you don’t want anything else? You can let me know by sending me someone’s body parts by courier.”

And now he seems to break too, grinning.

“I mean, your hubby do seem like he got a few too many.”

Giggling, she shoves at him a little, and he laughs before pushing closer to her; kissing her. He’s leaning over onto her and all she can think about is how she wants him all the way on top of her.

But he pulls away too quickly, looking down at her ponderingly.

Then, softly, he moves some of the hair out of her face. She notices the way his eyes are a little glazed over; the whiskey on his breath.

“Y’know how many times I had to stop myself from tellin you how pretty you look by firelight?”

She sucks in a breath.

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And all along I've been dying at not being able to wear any makeup.”

Every now and then she’d applied some of the mascara she has in her handbag, but otherwise she’s had to go bare-faced every day. Thank god Iris had at least left behind some facial care products.

“Told you you don’t need all that, didn’t I?”

It makes her frown, then she remembers.

“ _Technically_ you told me I don’t need botox.”

He rolls his eyes, annoyed, like she’d somehow misunderstood.

“You’re perfect just like this,” he shakes his head.

It warms her even though she knows he’s tipsy. It feels nice and maybe – maybe – he actually means it.

But she pulls her mind from this, realising she can use his current state to her advantage; to talk about something that's been worrying her for a while.

“Rio.”

“Uh-huh?” he squints down at her.

She swallows heavily.

“What happens after this?”

“Whatchu mean?”

“Like when we leave here,” she expands. “How does… _this_ affect business?”

She’s assuming they’ll work together again even if this hadn’t resulted in getting Boland Motors back up and running again.

But can things just go back to the way they’d once been?

He stares back at her then looks away with a long sigh, eyes becoming a little more focused.

“I dunno.”

“We’ll probably have to figure it out,” she posits.

Another moment of quiet as he seems to think.

Then, with a sharp breath: “How ’bout this – how ’bout we talk about it on day 14, yeah? ’Cuz right now it’s harshing my buzz.”

…Ok. She supposes she can give him that. He’d been pretty gracious when she’d had too much to drink.

So she lets herself giggle.

“You know, this is the drunkest you’ve been since we’ve been here.”

“Hmm,” he hums, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “That’s ’cuz I don’t trust myself ’round you when I’m bombed.”

It strikes her; ignites her.

“Really?” she asks, voice angelic. “Is it in case I do this?”

She presses her hips up against his, making him Rio groan. And after that he doesn’t just kiss her.

* * *

* * *

**Day 13**

* * *

* * *

They fuck out on the deck in the early-morning chill.

He takes off everything she’s wearing before he lets her get up onto his lap and she feels the cold kiss at her spine as she burns everywhere.

She should think about how exposed they are, how her entire body is on display, but she doesn’t. She thinks only about him; about how he feels inside her and his warm hands framing her body.

And there’s the way he’s looking at her; the depth of his dark gaze. Like nothing matters more than this. More than her.

Their eyes don’t leave each other’s the whole time and her hips move so slowly, it’s like time stands still.

* * *

* * *

**Day 14**

* * *

* * *

There’s a heaviness at the bottom of her stomach when she wakes.

Tomorrow they go home.

It’s their last day and it doesn’t feel real – how had they gotten here so quickly?

God. How could she even think it had been quickly?

Brushing her teeth, she files through the past two weeks in her mind.

She’d thought it would be draining, impossible to survive. And in some ways, it had been. On some days. But now that they have to go home, the unknown is far scarier.

_How ’bout this – how ’bout we talk about it on day 14, yeah?_

At the time it had felt like such a relief – now she feels weighed down by it. What will he say? What will _she_ say? What does she _want_ to say? What does she want?

It’s like all of the other day’s questions all over again.

What now?

But her anxiety dies throughout the course of the morning – he’d been working less recently (when she’d accused him of using ‘work’ to avoid her, he’d rolled his eyes but hadn’t denied it), so she’d thought maybe they would talk this morning. But it passes uneventfully.

Eventually she knocks at the study door then enters, wanting him to weigh in on her last quarantine bake, at least in Iris’ incredible kitchen.

Her eyes widen when she sees the room still dark, and she laughs.

“You’re still asleep?”

He groans noncommittally and she heads over, feeling pretty smug.

“Who’s hungover now?” she teases.

Well, her too – kind of – because they’d both been drinking last night, but she isn’t about to admit to that.

He doesn’t move and she rolls her eyes, reaching out to shake him properly awake.

“If you’re nice to me, I might make you a Bloody Mary.”

But then her hand lands on him, and. Oh god.

“Rio,” she breathes. “You’re burning up.”


	15. Day 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! I needed a night off, but now I'm back :)

Beth wrings her hands.

He’d spent the entirety of yesterday asleep, waking only to eat and drink whatever she’d forced on him.

Which hadn’t been much. Throughout the course of the day he’d eaten one muffin and less than half of a burger. He’d even refused a cinnamon roll. It had gone better with the water, but only because she’d nearly shoved it down his throat, pointing out that he was sweating a lot and needed to replace the fluids.

She knocks twice then opens the door to the study.

“Morning.”

“Imma find my gun if you open those curtains again,” he mumbles into the pillow.

She rolls her eyes. Yesterday she’d opened them and, well… it had _not_ gone down well.

“Fine, but I’m going to let open a window – you need fresh air.”

She waits for complaints on this but he’s quiet, so she goes over to the window to open it just a little.

Then, pulling the desk chair over to the couch, she sits.

He doesn’t move, on his stomach with his head pressed into the pillow away from her.

“How are you feeling?” she asks lightly.

“Like I’m at Disneyland.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear your sarcasm hasn’t gone,” she says dryly. “Can I feel your forehead?”

She waits for a few seconds. Eventually, with a sigh, he twists around.

His eyes open as she lays her hand on his head.

“You like playing nurse?”

She blushes. “Shut up.”

He laughs a little as she pulls her hand back.

“You’re warm,” she nods, “but better than yesterday.”

“Ok.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Like it matters?”

She sighs. “Not eating anything is only going to make you feel worse. _But_ I was thinking of making one of those super juices.”

She’d spotted a superfood booster in the pantry and she thinks she could probably make it taste good.

“If there’s celery in it, you best find one o’ those hospital baggies and get that shit up my veins, ’cuz it ain’t goin in me no other way.”

She smiles, remembering his hatred for it from their conversation about vegetables.

“No celery, I promise.”

“Cool.”

He swallows heavily, like it’s difficult, then closes his eyes again.

It allows her to let the worry flood her expression once more, gaze taking him in. There’s pain in the curl of his body; in the softness of his jaw. 

“Do you… want me to call anyone?”

He shakes his head. “Texted her last night. We don’t wanna worry the kid, though.”

She considers.

“Maybe you could send him a voice message or something, while your voice is still ok. So he doesn’t think anything is wrong.”

His eyes fly open in surprise – but he looks pleased, she thinks.

“That’s a good idea.”

Her smile is small as she nods, standing.

She’s almost to the door when he stops her.

“Elizabeth.”

Frowning, she turns back.

“Thanks.”

She draws a long breath.

“I’ll be back with your juice soon.”

* * *

“How opposed are you to your children being used as firewood?”

“We don’t have a fireplace.”

Annie scoffs. “Fine! _Barbecued_ Kenny.”

Beth laughs in spite of herself.

“What’s going on?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re the one who said you wanted to talk – which scared the hell out of me, by the way. Are you breaking up with me?”

“Yeah, I started noticing the cracks in our relationship when you mentioned using the kids as firewood.”

“Hey, _you_ try being stuck in here with em for two weeks.”

Beth smiles but it’s sadder, now. She readjusts on the bench.

“Are you outside?” Annie squints.

“On the deck.”

“Why?” she wonders. “ _You_ aren’t trapped with a bunch of brats.”

“Rio’s sleeping.”

And she’d wanted to talk without there being a chance that he could overhear.

“Ok…” Annie frowns, registering her tone.

She clears her throat.

“He’s sick, actually.”

“WHAT?”

She rubs both her hands over her face.

“Yeah.”

“With the big CV?”

God. Trust her sister to nickname a pandemic.

“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “I guess?”

“Holy shit. Wait – so you’re not coming home today?”

“Annie. He’s sick.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

There’s silence as they both consider this.

It feels good to talk about, especially with Annie. She has a way of lightening a situation, and that’s what Beth needs right now. To feel like the entire world isn’t crashing down around her.

“Did you give him a mask and stuff?”

She stares back, swallowing.

God, how does she even say this?

“Well. There’s more.”

Her sister frowns. “More what?”

A second seems to stretch on for an hour as she bites hesitantly at her lip.

Then she closes her eyes.

“We had sex.”

“WHAT??”

She looks like she’s about to choke on her own spit before suddenly her neck whips around. It seems like someone had entered Beth’s bedroom, and Annie’s gasping as she looks over.

“Emma, NOT NOW. Aunty Annie’s in cardiac arrest.”

Hearing the door shut, Beth rolls her eyes at her sister.

Then Annie looks back at the screen with wide eyes.

“Tell me _everything_!”

“Please go check what my daughter needs.”

“She probably just lost her yellow crayon,” she rolls her eyes.

But Beth glares hard and long enough to make her sister sigh heavily then climb off the bed and go after Emma.

She’s back after a minute with a drink.

“Tell. Me. Everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell. I knew he could’ve been infected and I still did it and now he’s sick.”

She considers for a moment.

“Was it like… _non-kissing sex_?”

“What? Annie, _no_.”

“Ok, but just the one time, though, right?”

Pressing her fingers into her eyes so she doesn’t have to look at her, she shakes her head.

“Hoooly crap.”

“I know.”

“Holy crap, Beth!”

“I _know_.”

They both just sit in it for a minute, her sister processing what Beth had spent all of yesterday trying to.

Then: “So what are crime bosses like sick?”

“Oh my god, _so_ grumpy.”

“It could get any worse??”

“Apparently!”

But, honestly, she prefers it. Because that means there’s still strength in him. Seeing him like this… god. It doesn’t feel real.

The way there’s no fight in his body is difficult to reconcile with the wood-chopping, boxing, gun-wielding force of a man.

Knowing he’s only going to get worse is unfathomable.

And _how much worse_ , exactly? God.

“What is it about this guy?”

Breaking from her reverie, Beth looks up.

“What?”

“What is it that makes you do the craziest things?”

And she remembers, suddenly, what she’d said to her outside the bar that night.

_This isn’t just some guy. Why would you drop that steamy of a deuce like right where you eat?_

And Dean, too.

_It’s like you’re losing your mind. You’re putting yourself in these insane situations._

“…I don’t know.”

She wishes she did. Wishes either of them did.

_So I don’t understand what someone like you is doing with someone like me. Why you care about me. Care if I walk away._

_Me neither._

Her sister looks off screen again, some commotion seemingly happening in the rest of the house.

“WELL, THE TURD WHO BROKE IT HAS TO FIX IT!” she yells back.

There’s quiet for a moment. Then she looks back at Beth.

“I should probably go.”

“Yeah.”

“Are _you_ ok?

She shrugs. “I’m not sick.”

“Not exactly what I meant.”

No. No, she’s not ok. Even though she has to pretend to be with him; pretend like she isn’t worried out of her mind.

And that’s why she’d needed to talk to someone else. Needed to say the words aloud.

“…It wasn’t just sex.”

And as her sister stares back at her, more wide-eyed than ever, Beth breathes out the rest.

“I’m scared.”


	16. Day 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday! :)

He starts coughing.

She makes him so much honeyed tea that he mutters he’s never going to have another cup after this. He says his throat doesn’t hurt but she thinks he’s lying, especially since he denies the body aches she can tell he has, too. He comes to the kitchen to try and prove her wrong then ends up on the couch, breathless.

She makes soup as he watches some crime thriller and rips into it endlessly. (It’s all pretty short, interrupted with coughs, but scathing nonetheless: “ _Stupid_ ” “ _Don’t work like that_ ” “ _Who the fuck writes this shit?_ ”)

When the soup is done, he eats two spoons of it then tosses it aside saying he’s not hungry.

“Also, it ain’t your best.”

She huffs, affronted. “We’re running out of fresh ingredients – we weren’t still supposed to be here by now.”

So she’d planned accordingly. 

He eyes her and she knows what he’s thinking. One of them will have to go to the store. And based on how he’d barely made it to the lounge, it’ll have to be her.

It’s as if he rejects the thought as soon as it enters his mind, stubbornly shaking his head.

“Good thing we got all those muffins.”

She sits back, considering. He’s been sleeping a lot. She could conceivably find his keys while he’s asleep, go to the store and make it back before he even wakes back up.

It is a risk, though, and he’ll be furious when he inevitably finds out. Plus, things aren’t really bad yet. She’d deliberately been using up everything fresh, but there’s still a bunch of dried and tinned things. All kinds of legumes and veg.

He nudges her with his foot.

“Whatchu thinkin about?”

“Nothing,” she shakes her head, trying to look innocent.

“ _Elizabeth_.”

“I’ll tell you if you eat your soup,” she smiles back, triumphant.

He rolls his eyes before coughing into his elbow.

His body jerks a little at the movement and she swallows hard, trying not to let the worry show on her face. Annie had agreed that it would only freak him out more.

But she also can’t give him pain pills until he eats. Ok. Different tactic.

“Rio.”

He looks up, a frown immediately settling at the doe eyes she’s giving him. She blinks while pouting just a little.

“Please eat?”

He pops an amused brow.

“That normally work for you?”

Letting out an annoyed breath, she glares at him hard.

“You owe me. From the cinnamon rolls. Eat the goddamn soup.”

His lips curl into a slow smile.

“That’s my girl.”

She tries to repress a blush at this, and thankfully he makes it easy as the smile vanishes so he can look at her like she’s dense.

“So gimme the goddamn soup, then.”

* * *

“Yeah, you should get fuckin life without parole for bein that stupid.”

Beth rolls her eyes as she re-enters the lounge, rounding the couch to get his attention away from the screen.

The character’s voices come to a stop as he pauses.

“What’s up?” he notes the way she’s looking at him.

“I have a surprise for you.”

His mouth twists.

“I hate surprises.”

“Ok,” she rolls her eyes. “Well, I ran us a bath.”

“Us?”

She nods, pretty pleased with herself. He’d taken the pills but he’d still seemed in pain, and she’d been wracking her brain before being hit with a slew of very good ideas.

He shoves the laptop away and she smiles happily before leading him into the bathroom.

She’d turned the lights down low, lit two scented candles and used every soapy bath thing she could lay her hands on.

“If you wanted to romance me, ma, you coulda just asked,” he quips from behind her.

“Shut up and get in.”

He chuckles but she catches him wincing when she twists around, and she shakes her head.

“Let me do it.”

His arms fall to the sides and she feels his gaze on her heavy as she reaches to undo the zipper on his hoodie.

Her hands graze his skin – no longer too-warm – as she pushes it off him. Then she undoes the drawstring on his sweatpants, swallowing. It feels weirdly personal even though it’s the umpteenth time she’s undressed him at this point. It’s just… different, somehow.

She shoves down his bottoms and he kicks it all off.

Then he’s naked and she’s trying not to look, which is equally as ridiculous, but now they’re just standing in the middle of the bathroom, the silence as viscous as the steam around them. His eyes seem even more difficult to meet, though, so she looks down between them, trying to keep her gaze on his chest.

“The soup wasn’t that bad,” he says suddenly, lowly.

“I know.”

Her voice is equally as quiet; a secret that shouldn’t escape past the confines of their bodies.

She hears him swallow as he comes a little closer.

“You takin real good care o’ me, momma.”

She draws a breath, doesn’t know what to say, but he doesn’t wait for a response, rounding her to get into the bath. And it’s as soon as he’s sitting that she feels her body sag with relief.

That had been easier than she’d expecting – the first part of her plan seemingly going off without a hitch.

“I’ll go get towels,” she says. “I’ll be right back.”

She returns a few minutes later, but she stutters in the doorway at the sight of him in the bath. Glistening and surrounded with bubbles. His head laid back, tattoo facing up.

The flickering candlelight throws warm shadows onto his body; carves out his sharp cheekbones.

It’s more than just the way he looks, though. For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t look like he’s in pain. And, what’s more, it’s her first time seeing him quite like this. At ease.

She closes the door almost all the way then steps forward, kicking off her shoes.

Rio’s eyes open to watch her and she feels a bit shy undressing in front of him in this situation, but she tries not to think about it, shimmying out of all her clothing then going toward the other end of the bath.

“Nuh,” he speaks for the first time, tone unyielding.

She hesitates, frowning, and he lifts his hand out of the water to point at the space in front of him.

She nibbles on her lip for a few seconds but then relents, moving over to him then stepping into the bath.

She feels the blush spread everywhere as she turns around then lowers her body very slowly – she doesn’t want to slip and break her neck, but she’s also very aware of the view of her ass he must have.

When she’s seated between his legs, his arm comes up around her, pulling her against him and palming one of her breasts.

She settles against his chest with a sigh, loving the way he touches her.

“I smelled that bad?” he eventually asks, breaking the silence.

She giggles.

“No. When my kids are sick and grumpy, I always put them in a bath. The hot water helps the aches and even if it doesn’t, you always feel better when you’re clean,” she shrugs.

“Smart,” he acknowledges. “You get in with em, too?”

She smiles.

“Not since they were tiny. But you needed persuading.”

“Hmm. You’re good at that.”

She thinks this is a compliment.

“…Do you like the bath?”

“I do, actually.”

“Do you like surprises now?”

“Don’t push it.”

She’s biting back a smile when suddenly she feels the hair being pulled off her shoulder. It’s wet at the ends from his body, matting behind her as he pulls her neck open.

Her breath drops away as he starts laying hot, wet kisses down the line of her neck, her head lolling against his shoulder. He sucks against her pulse – not too harsh, not enough for a hickey – then noses over it tenderly.

His lazy kisses continue for a long while, lips taking the same journey up and down till she could drift to sleep beneath his mouth and hands. Then eventually he shifts her down, her breasts going underwater, so he can wrap his arms around her shoulders.

Her head to his chest, his head against hers. What a picture they must make, she thinks.

Her eyes flutter closed as if to take it; as if to remember forever.

* * *

Rio clicks his tongue when they exit the bathroom into the room.

“What’d you do?”

“Moved all your things in here,” she answers like it hadn’t been rhetorical. “Also I took all the bedding off the couch so you’d have make it up again to sleep there, which seems like a lot more effort than it’s worth, don’t you think?”

Not to mention that he probably doesn’t even have the strength right now.

She twists to regard him triumphantly.

He doesn’t look pleased.

“Elizabeth, this is real damn dumb.”

She’s a little crestfallen, but she tries not to let it show.

“Tough.”

She moves to her side of the bed and starts getting ready to go to sleep, pulling on a nice pair of panties and a camisole.

His sigh is long and hard before eventually he goes to the other side of the bed, drops his towel then climbs under the blanket.

She bites at her lip guiltily but turns out the light before settling beside him.

The quiet is heavy, so different to what it had been like as they’d shared their bath together. This feels like a betrayal of that and it scratches her up on the inside. It’s not what she’d meant for.

“…Are you mad?”

“Yea.”

She swallows.

“I know you like sleeping alone, but—”

“You know it ain’t that,” he bites out, and she can see the flash of his eyes even in the dark. “I’m gonna be coughin all fuckin night and that ain’t a risk you gotta take. Makes no sense.”

Her heart pounds in her chest. He’s worried about her.

The anger is so crisp, so familiar.

The way he’d exploded at her in the alley when Jane had been missing.

“I guess you didn’t hear me the first time: I don’t care.” His eyes widen and she continues, shrugging. “I’ve been about as exposed as it gets and besides, I’d rather get sick than have you need something in the middle of the night and not know.”

She’d spent an hour last night looking up symptoms and complications; people’s accounts of enduring it. For a few more hours she’d tossed and turned imagining him not being able to breathe or breaking into another fever.

It had taken everything she’d had not to go and sit by his couch just to calm her mind. Eventually she’d gone to the kitchen instead and baked biscuits, finally getting a few hours of sleep on the couch in the lounge as the sun came up.

He’s looking at her strangely now and she ruffles.

“What?”

But he shakes his head slowly, eyes and jaw soft.

“I'm real glad I ain't alone.”

And she doesn't know if he means right now or the quarantine in general, but it makes her heart stutter in her chest either way.

Nodding, she shifts a little closer to him.

He doesn't pull away, so she gets even closer before laying a kiss at the corner of his lips.

“You're gonna feel better tomorrow,” she says, like she's sure.

He watches her for a long moment, eyes analysing.

Then: “You ain’t goin to no damn store without me.”

…Of course he’d known.

“Why?”

“Ain’t safe,” he shakes his head.

Thinking of the guy who’d tried to steal her crescent rolls, the powerlessness she’d felt, she lets out a breath.

“Ok.”

“When we really need it, you lemme know. I’ll pull my ass outta bed and we’ll go together, yeah?”

She shrugs a little. “You’re barely eating, so it’s not likely to be a problem for a while.”

“Well, I _gotta_ eat tomorrow when I feel better, right?”

She smiles in spite of herself and his lips curl up too.

He doesn't say anything else though, just gesturing, and she follows his instruction to turn over to the other side. Then he curls up behind her, forehead pressed to the nape of her neck.

_It wasn't just sex. I'm scared. What if… what if he doesn't make it?_

_That all that has you scared?_

She presses even closer to him and, after a second, he wraps an arm around her. It’s tight, strong; possessive, almost protective. And… she likes it.

_I think I'm falling for him._


	17. 17 - 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting so bad at posting every night, I'm so sorry! I swear yesterday it was the show's fault, though 😇😇 But thank you so much for all your amazing feedback; y'all really know how to make a girl feel special and motivated xx

* * *

* * *

**Day 17**

* * *

* * *

He doesn’t get better.

Actually, he gets worse. A lot worse.

He doesn’t get out of bed except to go to the bathroom and even then, he barely seems to make it. (She only offers her help once, earning herself a withering glare.)

Beth spends her time batch-cooking and calling Annie and Ruby. The Hills are still doing well, if being driven insane by Harry. Stan and Ruby make her ‘babysit’ for half an hour, during which time Sara has a thousand questions about coronavirus and Harry wants to know all about ‘Aunty Beth’s cool new house’.

She goes to check on Rio, giving him more medicine, then watches a movie with her own kids.

He stays on his side of the bed when she climbs in and he’s restless, waking up constantly throughout the night.

They don’t speak, but sometimes she rubs his back a little after a particularly bad coughing fit.

The night seems endless and more than a few times she finds herself thinking about Iris’ husband.

More than a few times she wonders whether he’ll make it through this.

* * *

* * *

**Day 18**

* * *

* * *

Beth nudges the bedroom door open with her foot, balancing a bowl on top of the laptop.

She’s surprised to see Rio’s eyes open.

“You’re awake,” she notes with relief.

“Never slept this much in my life,” he grumbles.

“Do you need anything?”

“You got a new pair of lungs?”

She rolls her eyes.

“I made you pudding.”

She expects some sort of complaint about this – maybe that he’s not a child – but he doesn’t say anything, just looking her over before attempting to sit up.

He’s still busy by the time she’s rounded the bed and settled, and she watches with her lip tucked into her mouth.

Then, when he’s finally managed it, he reaches out for the bowl.

“Chocolate?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You know I ain’t a kid, right?”

She bites back a smile.

“I thought it would be better than solids, and soothing for your throat.”

“Yeah,” he pulls a face, “feels like it got sandpapered.”

She’s feeling pleased about him finally admitting to symptoms when he suddenly jerks his head in her direction.

“What about you; you good?”

“I’m fine,” she assures.

“How’s the kids?”

“Good,” she nods. “Marcus?”

“Annoyed there’s somethin wrong with my camera so we can’t FaceTime.”

She smiles sadly, shrugging. “We lie to protect them.”

“Hmm. He’d be extra pissed if he found out I had pudding.”

He’s smiling a little now too and she has to force herself to break the moment, pointing at the laptop.

“Do you want to watch a movie?”

“Sure.”

But he only makes it about fifteen minutes in before he pushes the half-finished pudding aside and folds into himself, nearly instantly sleep.

She takes his bowl to the kitchen, turns out all the lights then returns to the bedroom, where she places a hand on his forehead.

It’s cool now, even though he’s erratically shuddering – it must be in pain.

Sighing, she pulls the blanket up over him, tucking it around him. Then she goes to sit up in bed beside him, watching till there’s a crick in her neck and her back is aching.

Till she falls asleep halfway through hesitantly reaching for his hand; stopping just shy.

* * *

* * *

**Day 19**

* * *

* * *

Beth wakes groggily from her nap.

The first thing she realises is that Rio is still asleep. Frowning, she reaches out to check if he’s still breathing. But she exhales in relief when she feels breaths on her hand.

It’s just weird. Maybe he’d woken while she’d been having her nap, but – she checks the time – it’s nearly 2pm and he still hasn’t been up as far as she knows.

She’d been waiting for him to wake up – so he could finally have a bite of breakfast – when she must have fallen asleep too.

There’s a sound coming from the kitchen.

Beth frowns, suddenly realising that it’s what had woken her.

But… what is it?

She swallows, trying to get her brain to wake up faster so she can process the sound, but her body moves quicker, getting her out of bed and at the bedroom door before she’s even really thought about it.

She closes the door quietly behind her then heads toward the kitchen, still trying to figure out the sound.

And then she doesn’t have to anymore.

It’s the beeping of the fridge when it’s been open too long.

And it’s open now, a man rooting through it.

She gasps before she can help it, already backing away, but he hears.

“Don’t move!”

He pulls out a gun and she freezes.

“Let me see your hands.”

Beth raises them even as she looks back into the hallway. Should she call out for Rio?

But what if it doesn’t wake him, what if it just alerts the man to there being someone else in the house? He's still asleep; vulnerable.

“Come over here. Come on!” he barks, when she doesn’t move.

It shakes her out of it, feet pushing her further into the kitchen.

She gets a better look at him, now. He’s around her age, maybe a few years younger, but balding. There are three backpacks on the floor, one filled with everything that had been in the freezer. She spots the muffins and cinnamon rolls.

“Where’s all the rest of the food?”

She can smell alcohol on his breath and Beth’s just about to answer when suddenly she blinks, realising.

“…Is that a toy gun?”

His eyes widen.

“What? _No_.”

“ _Trust me_ ," she almost laughs. "I’d know.” 

His face twists and changes, humiliation instantly turning to fury.

“Well, you know what is real?” he spits, shoving the gun into his waistband. “My hands. Want me to choke the life out of you, bitch?”

She stutters back a little and he follows. Taking a petrified gulp, she shakes her head. 

“Please just take whatever you want and go.”

“Where’s all the food?” he growls.

“The pantry,” she points behind her. “It’s through there.”

“Move.”

He gestures for her to turn around and she twists, waving her hand to make the door slide open.

There’s a little gasp from behind her as he seems to take in everything inside.

“You fucking rich people.”

She turns back, thinking she could say it’s not her house, but what would be the point?

“The tins are over there,” she points out instead.

He watches her for a second then goes over to the shelf, beginning to toss them into one of his backpacks.

“I’m not a bad guy,” he mutters, shooting her a glance. “I’m just trying to feed my family.”

She scoffs. “Do they know you’re threatening to choke the life out of women?”

There’s a look on his face, _fury_ , and then suddenly he’s rushing toward her.

She backs up and then she’s tripping, falling, and she lands hard on her ass, head smacking against a shelf behind her.

It goes white behind her eyes for a second, the pain blinding.

When it's gone, Beth takes stock of her scratched palms and dizzy head. She's about to get up when she realises he’s looming over her.

“Stay the fuck down,” he sneers. “ _Don’t_. _Move_.”

“’S funny – I was about to say the same thing.”

God. She breathes. Rio.

The guy jumps at the voice, twisting around, and she sees him pale as he’s confronted with the terrifying scowl; the tattoo; the gold gun.

“Move and I paint the ceiling wit’ you.”

He looks... better. At least than she's seen him in a few days. He isn't as pale, and there's a sharp, determined set to his shoulders; a firmness to his finger near the trigger.

“Rio,” she says quietly. “Don’t.”

He glances at her for a quick second before his jaw sets again as he looks back at the other man.

“How’d you get in?”

“The lock on the deck door is easy to pick,” he speaks again for the first time, voice tight with fear.

“You sick?”

“No, man! Just hungry, ok!”

“Yeah, don’t make your problems mine.” He gestures with his gun. “Put that down – then get out of our house ’fore I change my mind.”

The guy hesitates, clearly reticent to leave behind all the food, but Rio steps closer, gun cocked, and he nods, hands going up.

Rio follows him out and Beth holds her breath, waiting for the gunshot.

But, thank god, it doesn’t come. Instead she hears the deck door bang followed by scraping, like a chair being moved against it.

Her hand goes to her head and after a few seconds, she hears footsteps enter the pantry again.

“You wanna tell me why you saved that asshole’s life?”

“His family needed the food,” she points out. “Plus, I’m not convinced you know how to get rid of your own bodies, and I really don’t want Iris being charged for a murder she didn’t commit.”

She hears him breathe out a laugh. “Yeah, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

She can’t seem to find it in herself to work up a response to this, pressing her head between her knees, and she hears him come closer before a hand lands on her shoulder.

“What’s up, he hurt you?”

And now she can no longer deny it, can no longer think it had been exhaustion or terror or taking a spill.

Looking up at him, she shakes her head.

“No, but… I don’t feel good.”


	18. Day 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's been a while! I hit a patch of writer's block/burnout, which combined with an extra busy week. 
> 
> Speaking of which, I started this story when work was really chill, but it's been super busy recently, so I'm going to try and get a chapter up every second day instead of every day - though I'll still try for ASAP! 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments and love, I appreciate you guys so much! Hope you enjoy this one xx

“Made you breakfast.”

Beth blinks rapidly, trying to wake herself up some more to get a good look at Rio entering the bedroom.

“You did?”

“Uh-huh.” He plops onto the bed. “Now I’m worn out.”

She smiles before looking at the tray he’s placed between them. Poached eggs, bacon and muffins.

“No coffee?”

“Damn, you say thank you weird.”

She glares and he chuckles, which she ignores as she reaches for a piece of bacon. The nausea isn’t too bad and she plans to show him how to be a good patient.

He goes for a muffin and she looks up at him in surprise.

“You have your appetite back?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “Kinda.”

Beth swallows.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she nods. “I was worried for a second.”

“A second? I know you was cryin ’bout me, ma.”

She rolls her eyes animatedly, which actually hurts a fair amount, before breaking off a piece of muffin.

“...What now?” she wonders.

“Whatchu mean?”

“I mean, do we just stay here forever now? When does the quarantine end?”

She looks up after a few seconds of quiet to find him staring off into the middle of nowhere, seemingly considering.

“I dunno.”

“It was supposed to be two weeks. It’s been nearly a month.”

“I know.”

“And nobody knows if re-infection is possible or not – what if you get it again?”

“I _don’t know_ , Elizabeth,” he growls.

She quiets, sticking to chewing, as she remembers this is how _she_ gets annoying when she’s sick. Asking Dean about washing and food and cleaning detergents until she exhausts herself with questions or he just stops talking to her.

But worrying distracts her – proven now with how the nausea is growing, her head is becoming heavier and she just generally feels awful inside.

“Water?” she asks.

He passes her a bottle and she drinks just enough to get the rest of the muffin down, which had become suddenly too dry to swallow. Or maybe that’s her throat. Her lips are beginning to chap, too.

She passes it back and he settles his whole hand over hers, meeting her eyes.

His fingers are large and warm; solid against hers.

“Imma take care of you, a’ight?”

She doesn’t know what to say, throat dry all over again.

“You don’t gotta worry ’bout nothin, you just lemme handle it all.”

“…You don’t have a good track record with that,” she points out.

_I trusted you._

_That’s your fault._

“Oh, I’m sorry, is someone else gettin you outta your murder charge?” he asks mockingly, brows furrowing.

She glares and he grins, finally taking the bottle from her and re-placing it on the bedside table.

He doesn’t turn back around immediately, though, clearing his throat.

“I know you used to lookin out for yourself.” And now he meets her eyes again. “But maybe you gotta make an exception for a pandemic and whatnot?”

It takes her breath away that he’s remembered her talking about her childhood.

Then she shakes her head a little.

“Why do you even want to?”

He shrugs. “You did for me, didn’t you?”

She feels her heart in her chest, each thump seeming to hit harder until she has to drag her eyes away.

“I’m done eating.”

“Yeah, me too,” he agrees.

The moment is gone, the air immediately lighter, and she wonders how he can make it so difficult to breathe.

Taking the tray, he twists around to lower it to the ground next to the bed, and she raises a brow.

“Don’t forget and step in that later.”

“I ain’t a moron,” he scoffs.

“Dean used to do that all the time.”

“My point exactly.”

He meets her glare with a smirk then gestures for her to turn around.

She lowers in bed before doing just that, and she’s a little surprised when he presses his body to hers so they’re spooning again.

But… it feels nice.

It’s the first time in a while she’s able to think about _him_ and _them_ , not just his health, and she can feel her chest flush as she remembers his words.

That he’s going to take care of her. 

And she doesn’t want to go back to sleep yet. She’s missed talking to him, she realises. Spending time with him.

“You know what I’m missing right now?”

“What?” he asks, voice low near her ear.

“My kids,” she admits. “Every time I’m sick, they all come in and jump on top of me.”

“Seems counterproductive.”

“It is,” she laughs. “…But it’s nice, anyway.”

She feels him nod behind her, like he gets it.

“This is the longest I’ve ever been away from my lil man." 

And maybe it’s this – him sharing something about his child, or just the right amount of impersonal intimacy the position affords them – but she finds it spilling from her lips.

“Why did you get the Dubby?”

There’s a beat.

“The what?”

Her cheeks flush for a second before she clarifies.

“My daughter’s blanket.”

She’d been so sure, then, that he hadn’t cared. The way he’d yelled at her in that alley a final confirmation of what she’d kept going back and forth about.

But then she’d opened that envelope and pulled out the pink wool and everything had changed yet again.

“Seemed like you wanted it.”

It’s a runaround, not an answer, and her eyes close in something like frustration.

Why did she think she would get a straight answer?

“You said it was dangerous,” she points out, though.

“Not for me.”

Another dead end.

“Why did you send it?” she presses. “Why not just give it to me?”

“So we didn’t have to have this conversation right here.”

She shakes her head a little, smiling. Because the truth is, she hadn’t wanted to have it, either. But it had left so many questions that she’d had for so long.

Although now, she supposes, she still has them. They’re just a little different now. Because now she knows he _does_ care.

He’d said it to her. His body wrapped around hers – his assurance still warm between them – proves it.

“Then I’m guessing you don’t want me to thank you?”

“Nope.”

Fine.

But she’ll at least say—

“Jane was really happy.”

“I do live to make Jane happy.”

She drives an elbow back and manages to get him in the ribs, causing a groan.

“ _Fuck_. My body still hurts, y’know.”

“Tell your sarcasm that.”

He grumbles a lot after that, but eventually they re-settle and she falls back asleep.

* * *

Rio’s coming back from the bathroom when he hears Elizabeth’s phone ringing.

He waits for a few seconds but she doesn’t wake, so he goes for it.

“Yo.”

A quiet second passes.

Then: “Um, who’s speaking, please?”

“How many people your sister in quarantine with?”

“Ok, fair enough,” Annie relents. “But where is she?”

“Asleep.”

He hesitates for a moment, reluctant to admit to this.

“She’s sick.”

“WHAT?”

She yells it so goddamn loud that he has to wrench the phone away from his ear.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me that?!”

He glares at the phone.

“Ain’t that what I just did?”

“Look, my guy, I know you’re our boss and everything – so all due respect and whatever – but that’s my _sister_ and I’m looking after her kids—”

“Yeah, don’t tell em.”

She gasps. “ _I wasn’t gonna_ — You know what – please just tell her to call me when she wakes up.”

“Sure,” he mutters, rolling his eyes.

“I need proof of life,” she insists. “A cottage in the middle of nowhere is the perfect place to murder someone.”

“Uh-huh,” he sighs.

“I’m serious! I’ve seen movies.”

“Can you see the one where this call ends?”

She’s halfway into another word when he hangs up.

Goddamn, that girl can talk a lot. Sometimes he wonders if she and Elizabeth are really related.

He puts the phone on silent then re-places it and himself, pulling Elizabeth back against his chest.

He frowns. She feels a lil warm. More than a little, actually.

_Ain’t a good idea. I could still get sick._

_I don’t care._

Shit. He shouldn’t have let her kiss him; shouldn’t have let any of it happen. But she makes him not think shit through; makes him do shit he knows ain’t smart.

Shit he never normally woulda done if his head were on straight.

_Why did you get the Dubby?_

Fuckin exhibit A.

All he’s done since is try and forget that night.

_Damn, this place is filthy._

_But so long as his customers got the money and it’s legit, he ain’t one to discriminate._

_Still, Demon knocks ’cuz_ he _ain’t touching their nasty-ass door._

_He figured he’d be cordial, give em a chance to do the smart thing. Like Elizabeth sure didn’t—_

_But naw, he ain’t gonna let himself go there. It fucks him up too much, the thought of her walking into some crack den—_

_The door swings open and maybe they’re waiting on girls or whatever, ’cuz the guy’s face falls before his eyes must adjust and he takes em in with a swallow._

_“Uhhh… G!” he calls into the house uncertainly._

_But Demon gestures for him to get the hell out the way before stepping back so Rio can walk in and… yeah, it’s even worse inside._

_Why the fuck had Elizabeth thought—_

_“Rio.” The main one comes up to him. “It’s Rio, right?”_

_And he got some white-dude name that Rio really didn’t have no interest in lookin up before rolling over here. He’d called Demon and that was enough. If the kid is here, he don’t got time for niceties._

_Her jerks his chin at Demon, who nods then goes about searching the room._

_The guys, strewn about, don’t seem sure what to make of this, especially since their leader’s tryna figure out to do with his tough guy act when Rio’s in the room. Yeah, he gets that a lot._

_“Do you want something?”_

_He’s about to answer when Demon comes back up from the basement holding a woolly pink blanket._

My daughter needed something in the car.

_Rio nods. In a second, Demon has the guy bent over a table, cheek pressed against it with his elbow yanked up his back. Demon’s already got his knife out and pressed to the guy’s eye before anyone else in the room can move a muscle._

_Then they’re ambling up, still confused – and, honestly, drugged up – and Rio smirks before getting closer._

_His voice is cool, smooth – everything he really ain't right now – when he speaks._

_“Imma ask you once and once only. You lie to me and the eye is where he_ starts _.”_

_“What?? WHAT??” he yells, crying out in pain as Demon tugs his arm harder._

_“Do you got the girl?”_

_“What girl??_

_“You usually got baby blankets lying around?”_

_“It was in the car!_ Your _car – oh. Oh. No, man. I don’t know anything about a girl. That bitch came by for the stupid blanket, but that’s it, we let them leave! All three of them! There’s no other girl!”_

_Demon raises a brow at him, but yeah._

_He believes him._

_Not that he’d ever thought she’d be here, but he wouldn't have been able to sleep tonight if he hadn’t been sure._

_He nods and Demon lets him go, coming back to flank Rio._

_He takes the blanket from him as the guy straightens, wincing at the pain in his elbow._

_“Lemme ask you sum’n: what’d I sell you?”_

_Rio’s gaze slowly comes up from inspecting the blanket – which is like real fuckin plain, man; she’d really risked her life for this? – to look at him._

_He swallows._

_“Pills.”_

_He holds up the blanket._

_“This a pill?”_

_“N-no.”_

_“So if you didn’t buy this and it didn’t come free, then that’s gotta mean you stole it, right?”_

_He steps close, real close, looking him right in the eye._

_“And trust me – you don’t wanna be someone who steals from me. This right here?" he gestures around. "This was friendly.”_

_“Ok, man, I’m sorry. I won’t take anything extra ever again. Not a nickel.”_

_And now he grins real wide._

_“Glad to hear it. I’ll take it outta your next order, yeah? Then we all squared away.”_

_He looks about to argue, but then it dies out in his eyes; on his lips. Guess he’s smarter than he looks._

_Twisting around, Rio uses the hand not holding the blanket to gesture around the room again._

_“Real nice place you got here.”_


	19. Day 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter to make up for being gone so long!
> 
> P.S. We're getting close to the end 😁

She struggles to force her eyes open.

Each feels like it has multiple anchors on it. But there are sounds in the room she can’t place, and she feels done sleeping for the moment anyway.

It takes a while, but she finally manages to pry them open.

And then she can’t close them.

Because Rio is standing opposite the bed, screwdriver in mouth, fiddling behind a flat-screen TV mounted against the wall.

She blinks hard a few times then, once it’s clear she is in fact awake, a smile rises to her lips. He looks incredibly focused and a little annoyed at whatever the problem is behind the TV, and with the tools in his hands and mouth, she can’t help thinking of everything Annie had said.

 _That tone was_ totally _supposed to mean something, which is that that guy is_ not _the handyman type – and I agree a hundred percent._

_Hey, does aunt Iris have a tripod? It doesn’t have to be a big deal, or anything – just, you know, two co-workers very professionally getting steamy in front of a camera._

_Come on, sis, have you_ seen _handyman pornos? They’re so hot. He can adjust your heating, make sure you're firing on all engines, lay some pipe..._

His t-shirt rises off his hips a little as he cranes to peer at the mount. She watches for a moment.

And then, finally, realisation hits.

“We didn’t have a TV yesterday.”

He turns in surprise, almost knocking his head in the process, then takes the screwdriver out of his mouth.

“You awake.”

“Did you go to the store??” she gasps.

“Needed a lock for the deck door,” he shrugs. “Got a few more things while I was out.”

 _A few more_ things?

“Groceries?”

“Some.”

Beth glares.

“You went without me?”

“You were sleepin,” he says, as if this was the reason.

“You said it wasn’t safe.”

“For you,” he points out, before swiftly moving on: “How ya feelin?”

“Like I’m at Disneyland.”

He breathes out a laugh as he takes a seat on the bed.

“Fair enough.”

She purses her lips and he sighs belabouredly.

“What, you mad at me now?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“A’ight, what if I make breakfast, what then?” he tantalises, popping a triumphant brow: “I got crescent rolls.”

God. The concept of food makes her stomach turn, and she throws her arms over her face.

“I’m not hungry.”

There’s quiet for a long few seconds before eventually she feels his hand on her arm.

“C’mon.”

“Where to?”

“We gettin some fresh air.”

Removing her arms, she casts a glance at the TV.

“Are you sure that’s gonna stay up?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Just _c’mon_.”

“I don’t want to,” she pouts.

“You can walk or I can carry you, but we goin out there,” he shrugs. “So choose.”

Seriously?

“How are you still mean even when I’m at death’s door?”

He grins widely.

“This is _my_ persuading.”

“I hate it.”

“Uh-huh.”

It takes forever to pull herself out of bed, then another age to put on a hoodie, and by the time she’s finally trying to shuffle her way towards the door, Rio’s tugging at her.

“You know, I was way more patient with you,” she mutters.

“I don’t think I moved this slow.”

She scoffs. “You think wrong.”

She expects a witty rejoinder, but he just lays the quickest kiss in her hair. And if he thinks that's going to make her more readily steered... well, he's kind of right about that. 

Still, she shoots him a curious look.

“You really _bought a TV_?”

“Yeah, that tiny screen was buggin me, man.”

She thinks of asking how he’d even gotten it here, but there’s a more pressing question.

“Are we going to leave it here?”

He lifts a brow. “Well, we can’t take it with us.”

“Oh my god, you totally bought Iris a TV.”

He rolls his eyes with a show of annoyance.

“I didn’t.”

She giggles and he grumbles as they make it out on the deck. The air is a little crisp, but it’s also a beautiful day, the birds chirping. It makes her smile as she collapses onto the bench.

Rio covers her in a blanket before sitting beside her.

She tries to sit up straight, but it’s not even a second later when her head starts feeling way too heavy and she lays it on his shoulder.

He doesn’t react, so she leans the rest of her body against him, too, readjusting the blanket so there aren’t any pockets of cold air and spreading it over his lap, too.

Looking up at him, she thinks about the morning they’d had sex out here. The way they’d gone so slow and he hadn’t taken his eyes off hers the whole time. They’d barely even kissed once she was on top of him; his hands splayed large and warm on her body, tenderly exploring it. And the whole time, the whole time, they’d kept looking at each other. Seeing each other.

It had been another first for her and, somehow, it had felt good. She didn’t think she could ever be that naked with someone – in a way that had nothing to do with clothing – and not hate it.

And it’s something, something scary, that he’d seen her and hadn’t run in the other direction. _She_ wants to, every day, and sometimes it doesn’t even take a mirror. Just opening her eyes in the morning.

And thinking about what she’d opened her eyes to _this_ morning almost makes her smile all over again because—

“So I was thinkin. ’Bout all those those questions you was askin me.”

She shakes herself out of her reverie to process his words then remember her own.

_What now? I mean, do we just stay here forever now? When does the quarantine end?_

_And nobody knows if re-infection is possible or not – what if you get it again?_

“Ok.”

He shoots her a glance out of the side of his eye.

“I’m feelin better, right?”

“Uh-huh…”

“So if you got the same thing, that means you’ll probably start feelin good in a few days. Once you do, we go get those damn tests and the docs can tell us what we gotta do from there.”

She considers this.

It’s not a bad plan, but—

“It isn’t easy to get tests.”

Now he turns to stare at her, brow raised.

God. She forgot who she was talking to again.

“Ok,” she half-laughs.

He nods, seemingly pleased that she agrees with this plan. But her brows furrow – his jaw has been set this whole time, eyes focused on a far-off distance.

But before she can ask, he speaks.

“Spoke to my kid earlier.”

“Oh, that’s great! How is he?”

“Good, good,” he nods, though his tone is sombre. “Was real happy to see me.”

And, studying him, she remembers.

“Except it made you moody again…”

He casts a glance at her, lips quirking up for a second, before shaking his head.

“I ain’t moody.”

“You can’t go for a jog this time,” she points out. “I can’t hold my own head up.”

He snickers a little and she allows him the time to stew before eventually he speaks again.

“…This kinda thing just makes you think ’bout shit, you know?”

“Like what?”

His sigh is heavy.

“I’m his dad, I shoulda been there,” he points out, shoulders jerking, “not some guy he barely knows.”

She looks down.

“Marriages end.”

“Shoulda tried harder,” he refutes. “For him.”

“In case of a _quarantine_?” she shoots back his own brand of sarcasm, lifting her chin again.

He meets her eyes.

“You one to talk. You still with that dumbass.”

Clearing her throat, Beth shifts a little; folding her arms under the blanket.

“Actually, we’re getting a divorce.”

His face goes blank with shock, eyes widening.

“Oh.”

They stare at each other wordlessly for what feels like an eternity as Beth realises for the first time how that could mean something for… _them_.

Is that what he’s thinking, too?

Looking away, she forces herself to speak.

“I did wanna stay for them; try and make it work. But…”

She lets out a sigh. She doesn’t want to have to express the failure she’d felt that night Dean had handed her those papers.

And now he seems to be the one letting her stew.

She does, for a long few minutes, till she feels she owes them both something aloud.

“You know, I never planned that this was what my life would be like.”

“And how’s that?”

“The crazy.” She scoffs. “The _crime_.”

He raises a brow at her.

“’Cuz I did?”

Beth rolls her eyes. “Instead of assuming what I think about you, why don’t you just tell me what’s true?”

He stares at her for a moment, lips quirking a little, then jerks his chin.

“You first.”

And it’s not that she minds going first, but she knows where she’ll have to start, and it makes her hesitate.

She’s biting her lip, trying to figure out how to phrase it in the least awful way, when suddenly he reaches over with his right hand, moving her hair lightly out of the way.

Her eyes close for a second as he caresses the side of her face, then open again when he’s drawn back.

His gaze, warm, meets hers and she wonders, for the hundredth time: what is this?

“My mom was clinically depressed.”

There’s surprise etched into his features again and she looks down, not wanting to see the erasure of everything he’d ever assumed about her. It may have made him think worse of her, to think she’d been a sheltered princess her whole life, but at least it would’ve been better than the truth.

“She just totally stopped getting out of bed when my dad left and… well, I was young.” She blinks hard to stop her stinging eyes. “But I became a mother. I had to figure out how to collect unemployment checks and how to make a budget that meant all three of us would have food to eat for a whole month, plus pay for school. Make sure the homework was done and the house was clean.”

Rio doesn't say anything. There’s a tickle in her throat and she coughs it away a little.

“And then I met Dean and he was…”

“A moron?”

“A husband. Even from the beginning, there was a future with him, already in existence; all laid out. His dad had a dealership he was going to own one day; he wanted to live in the suburbs and have three kids. It sounded so… easy,” she admits. Then, with a breath: “Perfect.”

“But it wasn’t so perfect, huh?”

She doesn’t answer right away, trying to gather her thoughts; trying to summarise years and years of hope and disappointment. Self-hatred for being disappointed when she had everything she thought she’d wanted.

“No, but I thought that’s just how marriages were,” she finally shrugs. “And for a while it _did_ make me happy – the control. Children whose mouths I could feed. And even through the worst of it, at least he was _there_.”

She stops here; takes a moment to bite back the resentment that somehow always finds a way to resurface.

“And then I found out not only was he screwing his secretary, he’d also made it so that I couldn’t feed the _four_ kids I’d been stupid enough to have with him and—”

“So you hit a grocery store.”

It brings a little smile to her lips as she remembers him hopping from her counter.

She finally looks back up at him again.

“And you know the rest.”

“You did a good job,” he teases, smirking. “Kicking over those crates and shit. Real threatening like.”

She gasps. “How do you know that?”

“Saw the footage,” he grins.

Oh, god. Of course he had.

Before she can respond, a cough seems to issue from deep within her, knocking the air out of her lungs.

More come, rapid, and Rio shifts her so she’s leaning forward a little, rubbing at her back.

Eventually it comes to a dry halt, her throat feeling like it's on fire.

“Still at Disneyland?”

Her head even heavier now, she rests it on his chest, breathing him in with the air she’s struggling to get into her lungs.

“I hate you.”

He chuckles as his hand comes up to her forehead.

“Yeah, you got a fever again,” he sighs.

“Yeah,” she agrees, feeling the swirling of hot and cold flare within her.

Her head is beginning to spin too and, swallowing, she begins to shift.

“I’m gonna go back to bed.”

He makes a sound of agreement and she’s halfway off the bench, trying to focus on not tipping over, when suddenly he speaks.

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth.”

His expression is drawn when she looks over, wracked with guilt, and Beth frowns.

“For what?”

“All o’ this,” he shrugs. “I’m the one who made us come out here. Got all this shit started. All ’cuz—”

He cuts himself off and her frown deepens.

“Because what?”

There’s a long pause, the sounds of birds and frogs filling it as he seems to bite back whatever admission that could possibly be this bad.

Then he sighs, still not meeting her eyes.

“’Cuz I was selfish. Wanted to see you one last time ’fore… all o’ this.”

She swallows away a breath. 

_Look. It’s one meeting, alright? Then you get to tuck your lil family away and not see me again till this shit blows over._

_I won’t have to see you again? Do you promise?_

She doesn't know what to say to this amount of honesty – even now, it feels alien. And even if it didn't, she wouldn't know how to process the knowledge that he'd _wanted_ to drive all the way out here with her; that the concept of not seeing her for weeks had affected him.

But she has to say _something_ , so she clears her throat. 

“I did say from the beginning that this wasn’t my idea.”

He lets out a little amused breath, but his heart isn’t in it, and she shrugs.

“It’s ok.”

“Naw, it ain’t.”

“No,” she agrees, “it’s not. But… I know something about selfish one last times.”

His head jerks up and their eyes meet.

_I’m gonna take a shower; you should go. It’s over._

She smiles a little, lifting up her shoulders, and he nods slowly.

_If I could go back and do it differently, I would._

But neither of them can. They can only go forward. So, dragging her gaze away, she pushes herself to do so.

She has the door open, about to head back inside, when she notices.

“Hey.”

He looks over and she makes sure to inject as much surprise into her expression as possible.

“Looks like you did a good job on the lock.”

He rolls his eyes and they share a smile. 


	20. 22 - 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And just like that, we've made it through another season! Wishing you all the best for getting through tonight's episode andmaybealsokindofthischapterokbye xx

* * *

* * *

**Day 22**

* * *

* * *

She wakes once.

She’s just registered that she’d been drooling on Rio’s t-shirt and that he’s watching basketball reruns on their new TV when he suddenly shifts underneath her.

“’Bout time.”

She tries to lift her head off his chest but it doesn’t work, so she just twists her neck so she can look up at him.

God, what time is it? What _day_ is it? Why is she on him?

Her mouth feels like bin-flavoured cotton wool. She’s trying to weigh up her breath versus speaking to find out how long she’s been asleep for when Rio speaks again as he reaches over for something.

“Defrosted some o’ your shitty soup.”

It makes her smile, which seems like what he’d intended – he’s smirking as she tries to work up a glare.

“You said it wasn’t that bad.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I said that,” he lies.

She shakes her head in disbelief as he tries to both reposition her and pass her the soup. The smell of it makes her want to die.

“I’m not hungry— _Ow_!”

Her hand goes to her head, which is suddenly pounding now that he’d made her sit up.

“We can make that go away once you eat somethin.” A beat, then: “It’s been a while.”

And she wants to argue, because the last thing she wants to do is put anything into her mouth, but the way he says the last part stops her. There’s a hush to his tone; genuine concern in his eyes.

So she eats, managing five spoonsful and, after he gives her meds, she goes back to sleep.

* * *

* * *

**Day 23**

* * *

* * *

It’s 2am.

She knows it’s still early when she wakes in the dark, but she’s surprised when she checks the time. Twisting around, she sees that Rio is still asleep.

She feels slept out, though.

Pushing away the blanket, she climbs out of bed.

She takes her phone with her to the bathroom, where she catches up on all of yesterday’s texts that she’d missed out on as she’d slept the day away. They’re mainly from Annie and Ruby, but there are also a few from Dean complaining about his mother. She responds to them all then heads into the kitchen, needing to feel grounded again; remember where she is. She’s barely been out of bed the past few days, never mind the rest of the house.

But it’s exactly as she’d seen it last and she’s surprised at first before remembering Rio’s neat apartment.

She’s shaking her head with a smile when she spots something on the counter.

It’s only when she gets to it that she realises it’s two cinnamon buns defrosting. She’d forgotten she’d made them.

Maybe she’ll share one with him in the morning. For the first time in a while, the thought of food doesn’t sicken her.

For now, though, she wants to _do_ something. Her body feels creaky with disuse.

Maybe she could clean and re-sort the pantry – Rio had bought groceries so surely there’s something out of place in there.

She contemplates this, weighing it up against giving the fridge a deep clean.

Then there are arms wrapping around her, and she jumps with a sharp gasp.

“Oh my god!”

Rio laughs into the nape of her neck.

“How do you just sneak up on people like that?!”

“It’s a talent,” he boasts. “Plus, you ain’t real perceptive.”

She elbows him, but it isn’t as impactful as it had been the last time she’d done it to him. If anything, he just presses closer, lips caressing her shoulder.

“Come back to bed.”

She finds another smile starting on her lips.

Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought that she could take so much joy from hearing him say those words. Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought that he would actually say them.

“I feel like I’ve been sleeping for a week straight,” she points out. “I can’t do it anymore.”

“Hmm. Sounds like you feelin better.”

Oh.

She frowns. “I guess I am.”

It hadn't even really occurred to her, but now that he mentions it, she realises that she does. Like the world looks different, less hazy.

“We could watch TV,” he suggests.

“I was thinking of doing some cleaning.”

His snort is derisive.

“ _Naw_.”

“I thought you like sleeping alone,” she says stubbornly.

A moment ticks over quietly.

And this time it’s softer, lower: “Naw.”

She bites her lip into her mouth.

“Ok,” she relents. “But I need a shower first.”

And it’s with his admission tucked warm inside her that she twists her neck up to look at him.

“Will you help me?”

* * *

* * *

**Day 24**

* * *

* * *

Beth sips at the wine as she drags her gaze away from him bent over.

He’s busy reviving the fire that had died while they’d eaten the spaghetti bolognese he’d made them for dinner.

She wouldn't say she feels entirely recovered, but she figured she’d treat herself to some wine. And, not thinking past what would suit their dinner, she’d gone for red.

She’s only had about half a glass, but she can feel its effects already. A distraction – that's what she needs. She starts going through a cabinet at her eye level, not really rifling so much as giving her fingers something to do as her mind wanders.

He’d been ridiculously respectful during her shower yesterday morning, but there’d been a few moments when—

“Whatchu lookin for?”

He’s behind her, she can feel his breath on her ear. His body just a few inches from hers.

Her eyes flutter closed as she remembers the way he’d undressed her – quickly but cautiously, not pausing until she was completely naked. His eyes had taken her in slowly, deliberately, before meeting hers with a smirk.

“Nothing,” she swallows.

“What’s this?”

He presses up against her to reach past her and she remembers him pressed to her against the washing machine; remembers the way he’d drawn down her panties yesterday morning with a finger hooked around each side.

Her eyes open again as he retrieves a box, moving away from her to inspect it.

She takes another sip of wine to soothe her dry throat. 

“What is it?”

He snorts, reading over it. “Midnight Taboo.”

“What??”

She gets closer to peer at the box and, god, he’s right. The world _Adult_ is largely emblazoned on the dark purple box.

“Your bestie’s got some secrets, huh?” he teases.

“It’s just a game,” she huffs, still protective of Iris.

She’s the owner of this home that’s given them refuge, after all. 

“Oh, really?” Rio says, jaw rocking. “So you wanna play it, then?”

Her jaw drops. “W-what? _No_.”

His head cocks.

“Scared you gonna lose?”

Yes, but not the game. With the way she’s feeling now, she should be heading to bed, not engaging with him in anything with the word _adult_ in it.

“I don’t lose,” she scoffs.

“So prove it, then.”

He’s smirking, smug, and it makes her grab the box from him so roughly that it almost knocks the glass out of her own hand. This only amuses him more and she glares before heading over to the couch to set everything down so she can look at the rules.

“There are supposed to be teams. So there can be a censor to press the buzzer.”

“I trust you,” he taunts, joining her on the couch.

God, he’s annoying.

“Well, then I guess the rules don’t matter,” she mutters, tossing the page.

“Like they ever do?”

Beth rolls her eyes before getting out the cards and shuffling them. She does a terrible job, a few going flying everywhere, and Rio reaches for them with a snicker.

But she doesn’t relinquish them immediately, distracted by his hands on hers.

It makes her remember when she’d almost gone sprawling in the shower and he’d caught her. He’d gotten soaking wet in the process but, more importantly, he’d caught her with one hand on her hip and the other nearly cupping her breast.

Clearing her throat, she lets him take the cards without making eye contact, going for another sip of wine instead.

She’d wanted him to undress and join her, but nothing had happened. Maybe because it was 2am or she was so out of it that that's why she’d slipped to begin with, but he’d just retracted from the shower again while grumbling about his wet clothing.

Afterwards they’d both stayed on their own sides of the bed as they watched reality TV (her choice, not his) till they both fell back asleep.

“A’ight, here ya go,” he says, setting down the deck.

“This is silly,” she tries one more time to get out of it. 

“Uh-huh,” he nods. “You go first.”

And before she can say more, he’s flipped over the timer. She’s not about to let her time be wasted on glaring at him, so she picks up a card.

Immediately she hates every single thing that has ever happened in her life to lead her to this exact moment.

 _Body shot_ , the card says. The taboo words are _booze, belly, lick, skin_ and _suck_.

“Um,” she swallows. “…Doing a drink, like tequila, off someone.”

He looks incredibly pleased with her discomfort.

“A body shot?”

“Yes.”

She flips the card around and has to suppress a groan.

 _Orgasm – come, climax, finish, sex, bliss_.

“I-I don’t know,” she stutters out.

“Uh-uh, don’t be sabotagin me.”

She ignores this, reaching for a different card.

It makes her smile immediately.

_Counterfeit – money, fake, cash, forge, illegal._

“You sent me to Canada to help you make it. You call it funny,” she adds, fairly proud of herself for remembering this last part.

He seems impressed with her too, smiling.

“Counterfeit cash.”

“Yes. Ok, um…” She thinks for a second. “If you put a pen in water, it sinks to the…”

“Bottom,” he fills in, brow rising in amusement.

She ignores this, moving onto another card.

And she thought she couldn’t blush any more, but it proves her wrong.

“Uh…”

“C’mon, mami,” he goads, “ain’t that much time left.”

She swallows before letting out a breath.

“You do this to your gun before holding it to my head.”

He throws his head back with laughter and it only makes her warmer under her collar.

“ _Cock_?” he says through laughter.

“Your turn,” she bristles.

He’s still laughing when she flips the timer over.

“Hmm,” he hums, picking up a card. “Bet you had tons o’ this goin through your veins ’fore you hit that grocery store.”

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

“Adrenaline?”

“Uh-huh.” He lets out an amused breath after he flips it over: “What you keep losing me.”

Now the eye roll isn’t quite as good-natured.

“Money. And by the way, I got you your cut.”

He snorts. “Sure, darlin.”

She reaches for her glass as he goes for his next card.

“That Fed wanted to put you in these real bad.”

She glares. “Handcuffs.”

He sniffs out a laugh. “This game’s too easy.”

“Or it’s just not made for criminals,” she points out.

“Fair enough,” he chuckles. “Hmm. This what you did to my clothes yesterday.”

“Uh… Wet it? And the shower did that, not me.”

“Nope.”

She frowns, thinking.

“Soaked?”

“Close.”

She thinks hard but can’t get to anything else, so she waves her hand.

“Next.”

He twists the card around and – _oh._ God, no. She already knows from the look on his face that it’s nothing good.

Rio bites at his lip a little before looking at her, eyes glowing with relish.

“You _love_ when I give you this.”

He stretches out the word _love_ so it’s filthy, but she still has no idea, and she’s about to say as much when his tongue slips out to lick across his bottom lip. She swallows.

_His breaths are fast as he kisses down her stomach, Beth trying to concentrate on anything but his fingers inside her._

_“Fuck. Your body, ma.”_

_She clenches and he smirks, kissing lower. He parts her legs so she’s all the way open for him and she has to close her eyes when she feels his breath caress her folds._

_She thinks she can handle it when he lays a light kiss against the hood, but then he licks in and, god, she thinks she’ll die. She’s so wet – has been since the bar; since_ What am I doing here, Elizabeth? _– and he moans as her head thrashes. The sounds are obscene and his tongue inside her is too much, her legs are beginning to shake._

_“God, I can’t,” she whines._

_She swears she feels him smile against her and then suddenly he’s hooking two fingers back inside her and—_

“Time’s up.”

Beth blinks, trying to pull herself from her own thoughts and register his smug smile.

He tosses the card between them and she reads the word at the top: _Head_.

“There are about a million other things you could’ve said,” she points out.

But her voice sounds strangled even to herself, and the truth is she can’t take her eyes off his lips.

She’s unbearably hot everywhere now, but it’s been so long that she’s forgotten how to do this. How to ask for him. She’d been naked yesterday morning and he’d barely seemed tempted.

Then again, naked isn’t a bad place to start.

She’s reaching for the edge of her hoodie, about to start undressing then go from there, when suddenly his phone rings.

He goes for it, and whatever caller ID that appears on the screen makes his expression change so rapidly that it shoots dark panic into the bottom of her stomach.

He answers instantly, jumping up, and Beth watches as he leaves the room, talking in a hushed tone.

She sets down her glass then holds her head between her hands, trying to sober up enough to put it together. Something... _off_ ; different.

Slowly – very slowly – it comes to her.

The last time they’d been in this precise position and he’d gotten a call, it had gone very differently.

He hadn’t seemed to mind taking part of it in the room; he hadn’t jumped up quite as rapidly. Concern hadn’t immediately clouded his features.

But before she can do any more analysis, he’s coming back into the lounge, expression still drawn closed.

She shakes her head, throat filled with panic.

“What’s wrong?”

Rio grits his teeth, jaw working, before replying.

“My kid’s sick.”


	21. (contd)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your feedback! We're almost there :)

“My kid’s sick.”

Beth gasps.

“Oh my god. With—”

“Naw,” he shakes his head. “Symptoms don’t match up.”

“Thank god.”

“I can’t stay here, though,” he gestures around, jittery like he could take off at any moment. “I gotta be there, don’t care if I gotta wear a Hazmat suit, I gotta—”

“Be closer. I get it," she nods. "I’d be the same way.”

Rio nods and she sucks in a breath.

“Um… I’ll let my sister know, she can prep a quarantine room for me in the house.”

He watches her for a moment then nods decisively.

“Cool. We leave at dawn.”

“What about the road closures and searches?”

“Spoke to Demon. Thinks he might got us a free and clear route. That’s Plan A.”

“What’s Plan B?” she asks, as he clearly wants her to.

“You.”

He’s staring at her very pointedly, eyes focused, and she shakes her head in confusion.

“What does that mean?”

His shoulders jerk with a shrug.

“You use your white-lady voice to talk us outta gettin searched.”

Beth gasps, about to refute this, but her mouth ends up flapping uselessly.

How is she supposed to say she won’t at least try; won't do everything she can to help him get to his child?

Rio stares at her, amused, and she huffs.

“Ok.”

“Cool,” he nods firmly. “Talk to your sister, I’ll take care o’ this; lock up.”

* * *

 **See you tomorrow** 🤒🤒

Annie replies with two 🙅 emojis and Beth laughs before tossing her phone and heading to the bathroom.

Rio enters about a minute later, catching her halfway into brushing her teeth. He smirks before reaching past her for his toothbrush and then generally just beginning to get in her way in the most obnoxious way possible.

She glares and he smiles, toothpaste foam between his lips. She’s torn between rolling her eyes and giggling, so she opts to shove him out of the way, which only moves him about an inch, but she feels accomplished nonetheless.

She spits, rinses, then knuckles him in the stomach so she can get past him and back into the bedroom.

She can hear his chuckle as she applies hand cream and her mind settles very rockily, torn between the haze of red wine and everything that had happened in the past hour.

“Wanna watch something?” she asks when he enters the bedroom, gesturing at the TV.

The white noise could be what she needs to get to sleep; could cancel out the conflicting signals in her mind.

“Nah.”

She’s about to say more, but then he starts very methodically stripping. And maybe it’s the wine or remembering him demanding she strip for him, but she can’t draw her eyes away. Especially when it becomes clear that he won’t be stopping at his t-shirt and underwear like he’s been sleeping in recently.

Beth swallows when he’s naked, her body immediately reacting as she takes in the hard lines; flawless skin littered with tattoos. And—

She make her eyes flick back up before he can catch her looking; forces herself to push away the blankets and climb under them. She herself is in a plain black two-piece winter pajama set she’d found at the store, not too different from a pair she has at home. But she covers herself up to the neck as if she is naked, too, watching him climb in beside her.

He comes maybe a few inches closer than he normally does before settling on his back, just like she is.

“I can’t believe this is our last night here.”

It slashes through the silence neatly, if a little tinnily in her own ears.

“Uh-huh.”

“And you got to make the last meal,” she realises huffily.

“Oh, that’s some kinda honour, huh?”

Maybe not an honour, but…

“It’s _special_!”

He snorts.

“If it’s so important to you, you could make breakfast,” he teases.

As if she’s cooking for him at dawn.

“Sure, how many mushrooms do we have left?”

“Think I’ll just grab cereal.”

She bursts into laughter, and she’s not looking at him, but she's sure he must be at least smiling too.

“…Can you believe we lived together for three weeks without killing each other?”

He thinks about this for a second.

“No.”

Now she turns her head to look at him. There _is_ a smile on his face, slowly fading. It reels her in – not all the way, but enough.

Watching her, he reciprocates.

Her gaze goes from his lips up to his eyes.

When she swallows, it seems to echo around the room.

“We probably should have that Day 14 talk....”

His gaze is steady.

“You wanna?”

Honestly?

She shakes her head.

“No.”

He shrugs. “Then we don’t gotta.”

Her heart is beating so fast, she thinks he must be able to hear it.

“…Then what are we gonna do?”

His lips curl up very slowly, eyes still trained on hers, and then he carefully closes the last of the distance between them.

Their breaths mix, cool and minty, and she’s dizzy with it.

Beth wets her lips then reaches out under the blanket. His pec ripples under her touch and she flattens her palm against his body, drawing it slowly lower. She’s never just touched him like this and it feels alien and novel all at the same time, especially with the way he’s looking at her.

She feels over his hip, index finger twirling over the sharp bone there and— he catches her wrist, grip nearly bruising.

And it suddenly all comes rushing back, hitting her like a truck. The Taboo, the wine, his tongue running over his lips.

Gritting her teeth, she glares at him.

“So touch _me_ , then.”

Her body’s heaving with it, the need.

He lifts his brow, jaw rocking.

“So kiss me, then.”

Her moan falls on his lips, tongues meeting instantly as he lets go of her so he can reach for her pants. She doesn’t help him, going for the buttons on her jacket instead as she tips over so she can get both her hands free. He shifts over onto his back with her and then he’s slipping her panties off along with her pants.

Reluctantly, she pulls away from the kiss so she can get everything off. His eyes take her in hungrily and she feels it between her legs.

He brings her sprawling back on top of him, nipping at her jaw as he palms one of her breasts. She sighs into his neck, revelling in his scent; in everything about this moment.

“Wanna be on top?” he asks into her ear.

God, yes.

But, no. She’ll come too fast, she always does with him, and right now she needs more.

“Not yet,” she breathes.

He sucks at her neck.

“You want that thing you _love_ , momma?”

She sobs as his palm tightens around her breast.

“No,” she shakes her head, voice breathy. “I’m so wet, I just need you.”

He groans an acknowledgement then twists them over so they’re back on their sides, him between her legs. She opens up and he presses in, moaning.

“Fuck, you ain’t lyin.”

She clenches around him and he tuts, fingers digging into her hip. Then he kisses her hard, taking her out of her mind so he can sheath himself completely inside her and Beth can barely breathe, she’s so full.

She wraps her legs around his hips, pulling him closer. The kiss comes to a mutual stop, mouths dropping open around blistering breaths as they try to adjust.

His hand comes up into her hair, pushing it away so he can nose into her neck.

“How’s it you feel this good, ma?”

She doesn’t know how to reply because _he’s_ the one who feels good; so good, stretching her so wide that she thinks she could burst. And then he’s licking over her collarbone, nipping. It inadvertently presses his hipbone up against her and she whimpers loudly, hips beginning to shake.

His smirk is familiar against her skin.

“You know I could go all night, right? Get you so fucking _close_ , momma, then bring you right back.”

It sounds like torture, and yet she’s getting so much wetter, her nipples painfully hard.

“Rio,” she says.

Wraps her lips around it; wets his name like it's his tongue in her mouth.

Till he’s looking up at her, eyes black; till she’s got his full attention. Just like always, just like for the rest of tonight.

Which is all they have left. And she wants all of it, every second.

“Prove it.”


	22. Day 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know how to begin thanking you for your support on this story. I started it on a lark and didn't expect anyone to become genuinely invested in it, but that's been so heartwarming to witness, thank you ❤️ 
> 
> Thanks for sticking by it even when I flagrantly disregarded my update schedule and thank you so much for your feedback. I really felt the pressure writing this chapter 😅😅 so I hope you'll enjoy and find it satisfying! 
> 
> Thank you again and love you all xx

Beth watches from the car as Rio hides the front door key.

It's 7am.

For all his talk of dawn, he'd slept in. It was she who'd woken in the early hours of the morning.

She'd been exhausted limb from limb after they'd finally finished... making love – _god_ – so she'd fallen asleep instantly. But when the rain had woken her before 5am, she'd been unable to go back to sleep, anxiety coiled tight in her stomach.

A long shower had provided some sort of comfort, enrobing her in its heat, before she'd found herself in the kitchen. Cooking always calms her nerves, so she'd decided to make breakfast after all, whipping up a batch of pancakes.

That's when Rio had found her, brushing her hair away from the nape of her neck as he pressed close. And, well. They hadn't been _blueberry_ , but they had screwed practically on top of them, and she aches now from how rough they'd been, never mind all of last night.

“Ready?” he asks, climbing into the car.

“Sure.”

Beth doesn't make eye contact, putting on her seatbelt.

“You sad, huh?”

She looks back up in surprise.

No, she hadn't been – or, she hadn't thought she was.

But, looking from him to the house, she realises there is a heaviness in her heart.

She hasn't had a vacation, at least without the kids, in— god, her memory doesn't even go that far back. Not even her honeymoon, because Dean has always been something of a child, too.

It had held an appeal, once.

But staying with Rio has been different. Less burdensome. Less a child and more a... partner.

He'd done grocery shopping without her having to pre-write a list. He'd cooked them meals without needing her help. He’d fixed things before she had to complain about it for a week; before she’d even known it was broken.

And then there are things that have nothing to do with Dean.

Because she'd taken care of him but Rio had taken care of her, too. Feeding her, giving her medicine, holding her to him while she was asleep.

They'd been... something akin to married for over three weeks, and.

And she hadn't hated it.

She doesn't know how to process that.

_I'm scared._

_I think I'm falling for him._

“I left her a note,” she says, to say something.

“Dear Iris, there's like one place we didn't fuck. Hope you like the TV.”

She shoves at him, both of them laughing before she has to stop suddenly with a frown.

“Wait, where?”

Rio's brows furrow deeply as he gives this some thought.

“Oh, shit, you right. Not even one place.”

Then they're laughing again and, as he starts up the car, Beth forgets to think about the heaviness; perhaps it disappears altogether.

* * *

She wakes with a groan.

Her neck is all crampy and twisted; the dull ache between her hips ebbing back into her consciousness.

“Good, you’re up.”

Running her hands through her hair, she turns to him groggily.

“How long was I out for?”

“’Bout an hour.”

She blinks, surprised. It felt like a few minutes.

“You let me sleep?”

“Sure. Didn’t let you last night, after all,” he glances at her with a smirk.

She rolls her eyes, fighting off a blush, then reaches behind her for a bottle of water in the bags she’d packed with provisions for the trip. She'd left Iris the cinnamon buns she'd planned on leaving, though, along with a few other baked goods.

“How ya feelin?”

“Good,” she nods, swallowing.

He regards her with an eagle eye.

“Why don’t I believe you?” 

Closing the bottle, she realises he must’ve caught something – a wince; maybe a whimper in her sleep?

“I’m just… sore,” she clears her throat awkwardly.

“...Oh.”

A beat passes, awkward.

Then he smiles over, impish.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, you seem really torn up about it.”

He laughs.

“If it’s any consolation, you scratched me up good, ma.”

Oh, god. She vaguely remembers the trails she’d slashed down his neck, over his shoulders, across his biceps.

Deciding to use the moment to her own advantage instead of cowering like every instinct in her body is telling her to, she shrugs with faux nonchalance.

“Well, now at least Priya will know where you’ve been.”

He shoots her a look that she can’t place before training his eyes back on the road.

“So you still jealous, huh? This coming from the woman who’s on her way back home to hubby.”

“He’s not there,” she points out stiffly. “And I’m getting a divorce, remember?”

“Right, right.”

Before she can respond to this, he’s cursing, and she follows his gaze to find a long line of cars in front of them.

Up ahead there’s a roadblock.

Crap.

“So much for Plan A.”

“Hmm,” he agrees, before craning his neck a little. “Looks like you got about ten cars or so to get your story straight.”

“You’re equally as capable of coming up with a story,” she points out, irritable now that the moment has arrived.

The memory – the panic – feels suddenly fresh as she remembers being pulled over while driving his empty truck.

“Yeah, but I don’t got snow white skin and a whole PTA vibe.”

She shoots him a sharp look then focuses her gaze back out the windshield, feeling like the car is suddenly way too small.

She wonders what Priya looks like and if—

“ _Hey_.”

His hand is on her thigh, gripping tightly, and she looks first at it then at him.

“You a boss bitch. You can do this, eyes closed.” He shrugs a shoulder. “I wouldn’ta asked you otherwise.”

The words curl into her chest, but she forces a scoff.

“You’ve asked me to do a lot of things I couldn’t do.”

“Is that right?”

She opens her mouth but fails to produce words from it.

There’s Boomer, but. She’d been so prepared to kill him that night, after Rio had taught her. So ready. So capable.

And she doesn’t think she _can’t_. She thinks she _won’t_.

Maybe he knows that too.

He looks about to say something but then he retracts, having to move forward. There are three cars ahead of them now.

“Just so we're both on the same page, I don't have a white-lady voice.”

He chuckles under his breath.

“A’ight.”

Looking at him, she stares for a few seconds in consideration before removing her scarf from around her neck.

“Here.”

“What’s that for?”

“It's gonna be a lot easier if I don't have to contend with a giant neck tattoo too.”

He scoffs. “I ain't wearin that.”

“Do you _want_ your car searched?”

Grumbling, he grabs it from her, and it makes her realise for the first time that she's never questioned something very important.

Cocking her head, Beth narrows her eyes.

“ _Is_ there actually anything incriminating in this car?”

He shoots her half a glance as he pulls one part of the scarf through the loop he'd made with the other.

“No one lays hands on my ride.”

“That doesn't answer the question. If I can't stop them from searching it, are they going to find anything?”

“Guess you about to find out, huh?”

They pull forward and Rio lets down his window, the officer instantly poking his head in.

“Licence and registration, please.”

Rio has both of these ready and she watches the officer’s eyes take them both in. Her, snow white with a PTA vibe; him— whatever others see when they look at Rio (not her boss; not one of the most complicated people she's ever met; not the man she's falling for). Them, together, in a black Cadillac with tinted windows. God.

She takes in his name badge.

 _Clarkson_.

“Where are you two coming from?” he asks with a frown.

“Her uncle’s got a place up in the woods,” Rio points in the general direction they’d come from. “We were out there then figured we better get back before we get stuck out there.”

“Have you been tested?”

“Sure," he nods, rolling his shoulders. "We’re clean.”

“You aren’t wearing masks.”

“My bad. It’s just been the two of us, so we didn’t even think about it. We got some in the back, though.”

Clarkson peers behind Rio and Beth isn’t sure if it’s at the backseat or at the trunk.

“This is your car?”

Rio’s opening his mouth when she jumps in.

“Excuse me, _officer Clarkson_ , what’s the problem?”

He ruffles. “I’m asking whether this is Mr…” He goes back to the licence: “ _Christopher Meade_ ’s car.”

“I think that’s exactly what it says on those papers right in front of you, so I don’t understand this line of questioning.”

“If it’s a problem—”

“No, you know what’s a problem? The racism in this country. Now more than ever we should be standing together, not perpetuating prejudice. Because let me tell you, officer Clarkson, the coronavirus doesn’t care if you’re white.”

“That isn’t—”

“What, you think just because he’s Latino, he can’t afford an expensive car? And I guess I’m, what, his prisoner?” she scoffs.

He sucks in a gulp of air.

“Ma’am, this is a routine—”

“Nothing about this is routine. All the cars ahead of us you didn’t stop for more than thirty seconds. All white men like yourself, I’m guessing?”

Beth watches as his mouth drops open.

Then he swallows.

“...I’m a liberal.”

“Congratulations. What’s your badge number?”

Pulling out of the car, he straightens, and for the first time Beth lets her laser focus move from him, taking in Rio, who’s looking down at his lap and, from her angle, looks like he’s about to burst into laughter.

Then Clarkson clears his throat.

“I’m still going to have to record your details so we can keep track of everyone who came through here. That’s the law.”

Now Rio looks up, face sombre.

“No problem, officer. Sorry about my wife, she gets a lil crazy sometimes.”

It’s only when they’ve been let through and Rio’s window is rolled back up that she glares at him.

“‘A little crazy sometimes’?!”

“Oh, _that’s_ the part that bothered you, not the ‘wife’?”

She flusters for a second before re-igniting her glare.

“Are you going to tell me if there’s anything in this car or not?”

“Oh, just the body in the trunk.” When her jaw drops: “You said I was bad at getting rid of em, right?”

Realising he’s joking, Beth shuts her mouth with a glower.

“You’re hilarious.”

“I try, mami.”

Rolling her eyes, she takes another sip of her water before regarding him curiously.

“How far away are we?”

“Ten minutes or so,” he shrugs.

“I’ll let Annie know.”

The silence settles as she sends the text.

And the longer they don’t speak, the more uneasy she feels.

The thing about vacation? You can never bring it back with you.

The closer they get to home, the further she feels from what they’d had in their bubble of quarantine. The heavier the knowledge weighs that it had never been real life.

_Rio._

_Uh-huh?_

_What happens after this?_

_Whatchu mean?_

_Like when we leave here. How does… this affect business?_

_I dunno._

_We’ll probably have to figure it out._

_How ’bout this – how ’bout we talk about it on day 14, yeah? ’Cuz right now it’s harshing my buzz._

And then last night.

_We probably should have that Day 14 talk...._

_You wanna?_

_No._

_Then we don’t gotta._

Now, minutes away from real life, she regrets it.

What if everything goes back to exactly the way it had been? Especially after the however many weeks – or months – they won’t get to see each other for. 

“Rio.”

“Yeah?” he looks over at her, brow raised.

She blinks back, trying to figure out how to say it; what to say.

“You never told me how you got into this life.”

_You know, I never planned that this was what my life would be like._

_And how’s that?_

_The crazy. The crime._

_’Cuz I did?_

_Instead of assuming what I think about you, why don’t you just tell me what’s true?_

_You first._

He turns back to the road.

“Ain’t a real long story. Not that many plot twists, neither. Crime ain’t that deep.” He rolls his shoulders. “We all do this ’cuz we wanted a better life than the one we got.”

Yes, she supposes that is true.

She does wish she knew the details of that previous life of his, but it seems clear he isn’t going to get into it. Not now, anyway.

“And we all tell ourselves there’s an end goal, right?" he continues. "Just one more job; one more stack.”

She remembers telling the girls about her six-month plan. God, so long – way over six months – ago.

“Then I figured I was done just hustling – if I was gonna be in this world, I was gonna be the best.” He pauses for a second. “But you know sum’n ’bout that, don’t you?”

Their eyes meet and she shakes her head, feigning ignorance.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

But she remembers that night just as well as he does. Remembers the pearls she’d hung on that doorknob; the drink she’d poured herself as he’d watched.

“Naw?”

His eyes are on her when the car turns off and for a moment she can’t draw her own gaze away.

“You did a real good job back there.”

She draws a short breath, too much in his eyes to process.

“Thank you.”

And then she has to look away; has to find refuge in the familiarity of her own porch.

Her gaze flicks over it, taking in each detail she'd ever overlooked. Noting every part of it that is not like the one she’d left behind.

“Weird to be back,” she says softly.

“Yeah.”

Turning back, she levels him with a look.

“You realise after all this, I still don't have my dealership?”

“You win some, you lose some,” he shrugs, seemingly amused.

She raises a pointed brow.

“The guy who was supposed to help us gave us what was probably coronavirus instead. I'd say we lost more than _some_.”

“Yeah, but if we hadn'ta got sick...”

He leaves this in the air for a second, holding her eyes, before smirking: “…we wouldn'ta played that dope Taboo game. Remind me what it is I do to my gun 'fore I put it to your head, darlin?”

She scowls and he laughs hard from the back of his throat. It reminds her of that day in her backyard.

_They put your panties in his mouth?_

_Don’t say panties._

And before she can really think, she’s doing what she’d wanted to then – she crosses the space between them unblinkingly.

And then she does blink, lashes slow and steady as his amusement disappears on the quick breaths between their lips. He stares down at her, the moment frozen.

Then he kisses her, hand enveloping the side of her face, and it’s soft.

It’s goodbye.

It's slow, reluctant, when their lips part.

She swallows; licks the taste of him away.

“Marcus is going to be ok," she whispers. "I know he will.”

He snickers softly.

“You and your predictions.”

_You're gonna feel better tomorrow._

She smiles.

“Will you let me know?”

“I will,” he nods, then backs up. “And Imma text you the name of the nurse at Ascension who’ll hook you up with a test.”

“Ok.”

“You lemme know if there’s anything else you need.”

She blinks.

“You too.”

His lip curls up a little but he nods wordlessly.

Time to go, Beth.

She looks at him one last time then twists away, reaching for the door handle.

“Elizabeth.”

She freezes.

Then she forces herself to turn back around.

“Your scarf.”

Oh.

She watches him remove it then holds her hand out for it.

It's a little warm from the heat of his neck and for a second she just holds it in her lap, hating that he'd reeled her back in when she'd managed to turn away. 

She takes a deep breath, trying to find the resolve again, when suddenly he's touching her. Pushing the scarf away, Rio's hand settles over hers, and she freezes when he splays her fingers to reveal her palm.

His thumb traces over the line there.

“Healed up good.”

She’d forgotten about the cut once she’d stopped wearing the bandage, but now she looks too. Remembers slitting it with the knife, the pain, the way he’d quickly taken care of her. Remembers their conversation.

_So you were going to quarantine alone?_

_Alone ain’t nothin new to me._

She has to suppress a gasp when his palm meets hers and, with a silent swallow, she tangles her fingers with his.

The back of her neck burns and she's too sheepish to look up.

They just sit there for a while, holding hands. Hers small and cool in his large warm hand; pale fingers poking past golden knuckles. She can't stop looking.

_I'm real glad I ain't alone._

“Do you still believe that things never go back to exactly how they used to be?”

There’s a moment of silence. Then he sniffs.

“I do.”

It stirs hope in her chest, warm like cinnamon buns out of the oven.

But.

“I still hope the world does.”

“It’s gonna be a while.”

“Yeah,” she acknowledges sadly.

“I’m gonna miss touching you.”

It snuffs the air in her throat; the breath in her lungs.

And now she has to look up, has to meet the sincerity in his eyes to find the right words.

And it works; they come.

“There’s always masks and hand sanitiser.”

A smile forms on his lips and he nods a little.

“Ok.”

She stares back at him, surprised – sceptical – in spite of herself.

“Really?”

“Yeah, we can sit in your backyard, lots of fresh air, holding hands like pre-schoolers.”

They both burst into laughter at the image.

But their hands don’t part. He’s right – it’s ridiculous to think this can continue past this moment.

The quiet seems to settle around this realisation, as if it’s sitting in the air between them.

But it’s better, lighter, than the last time they’d been in his car like this outside her house.

_That’s what I am? Work?_

_Pretty much, yeah._

And it’s strange, existing in a moment so similar, so different. That to look in from outside – any of her neighbours even now, spying – this moment must seem indistinguishable from that one. But everything has changed. Maybe they’ve changed.

_Thing about life is, nothin ever goes back. You can take what you learned or you can do the same stupid shit again, but the only way is forward, there ain’t no choice in that._

Forward. They’d gone forward.

“I gotta get goin,” he says suddenly, voice gruff.

And his hand pulls away, but she holds on a second longer; holds onto them.

_You get attached to people too quick._

_I don’t think that’s true._

_That’s ’cuz you real damn good at just lettin em go, too._

Their eyes meet and it’s like he can read her mind.

“You’re still in my head – you know that, right?”

Her gasp gives away that _no_ , she hadn’t.

But she nods and then, finally, releases his hand.

Forward. They’ll go forward.

“Good,” she says lightly. Then, not quite as light: “I don’t want you to be alone.”

They share a smile – small, amused; melancholy, rapt.

He leans close to press a kiss against the corner of her lips, the soft of her mouth, before speaking against it.

“I’ll call you tonight.”

“I’ll see if I’m free.”

He breathes out a laugh and she smiles too before taking one last breath – of him, of them, of this – then pulls away.

“So I guess this is goodbye?" she asks, swallowing. "Until the world is normal again.”

Very deliberately straightening his expression, he nods curtly.

“Was an honour, Ms Boland.”

She grins in spite of herself.

“I’m not divorced _yet_.”

He shrugs a confident shoulder. “Soon enough.”

They share another look and then she forces herself to turn away, opening the car door. But before she can drag herself out, she finds herself turning back.

He looks at her, brow cocked, and she tosses her scarf into his lap.

“I’m gonna need that back.”

His lips curve up.

“I mean, I woulda taken panties, but…”

The giggle erupts from her chest and, again, the heaviness dissipates. He’s good at that.

God. She can’t wait to see him again.

“Goodbye, Rio.”


End file.
